The Hardest of Hearts
by knit-wear
Summary: (AU: The Keefe plot is delayed) The last thing Lisa expected when she boarded the red-eye flight to Miami was to find her self falling for a terrorist. Jackson's past and his role in the Keefe mission are not as straightforward as they seem. Lisa learns that she is much more than a simple hotel manager.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a story for a fandom where hardly any stories are ever posted any more, for a film that came out ten years ago... but this plot has been bugging me for a few months now so I'm getting it out there.**

 **A few things: I'm setting the "present" story line in the actual present (2016) instead of ten years ago, so they have smart phones and certain political events are alluded to.**

 **This will start off a bit fluffy, but as Lisa and Jackson get to know each other, things will inevitably get darker... and sexier too.**

* * *

The Hardest of Hearts

Part I: Surveillance

1.

 _ **Copenhagen.**_

 _ **The not too distant future.**_

 _Lisa dodged into the nearest alley, her heels clacking too loudly against the errant cobblestones underfoot as she tried to put distance between herself and the main thoroughfare. Her eyes traveled quickly, nervously across the gingerbread-house buildings on either side of the quiet Copenhagen street, trying to gauge if they could be harboring men trying to kill her. They looked quiet. They looked safe. She stopped to lean against a heavy turquoise door built into a rocky wall and focused on catching her breath._

 _Shouting down the street pricked at her senses, and Lisa quickly dug into her winter coat to retrieve the heavy revolver she'd been given hours earlier. She looked down at the gun in her palm, and let out a frustrated groan at her predicament when her phone began to vibrate quietly in her pocket._

 _"Shit, shit, shit," Lisa chanted as she dug in her pocket, holding the heavy gun awkwardly at a distance as though it were rubbish she wished to be rid of._

 _A Danish number flashed on the screen and Lisa, following the directions she had been given, answered with a swift yet shakey, "Ja?"_

 _"Leese, try not to sound so terrified," Jackson drawled on the other end._

 _Lisa's teeth clenched in frustration and she looked down at the gun in her hand, wishing he was standing in front of her now so she could at least hit him hard in the face with the heavy piece. "You asshole," she hissed. "I cannot_ believe _I'm in this situation!"_

 _She heard him sigh loudly on the other end. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, and the ever-present arrogance softened slightly. "How does Bali sound?"_

 _The shouting men were drawing closer._

 _"Fuck Bali!" Lisa shrieked, fighting to keep her wits together as she cast an eye up and down her alley to see if she was about to be ambushed. "And fuck you too!"_

 _The shouting drew closer still and Lisa shut her eyes tightly, sending up a silent prayer that she would not have to use the gun. She tried the handle on the turquoise door behind her but it refused to budge, and she swore she would kill Jackson if he got her arrested._

 _A slim, black Audi pulled up next to her, screeching to a stop as the window rolled down and Jackson hung his head out to look at Lisa expectantly._

 _"Well?" He lowered his sunglasses to look at her over the rim. "Are you getting in?"_

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

Lisa stepped out of Miami International Airport and into the morning sun with a bounce in her step. It might have been the two Screwdrivers she'd indulged in on the flight, or quite possibly the three hours of easy flirting with a handsome stranger over those Screwdrivers.

"So common," she'd joked, unable to stop herself from from sharing Jackson's infectious smirk as he accepted two small plastic cups of orange juice and miniature bottles of Smirnoff Vodka from the air hostess. "I would have guessed you were more of a whiskey-no-ice kinda guy," she joked.

He looked at her with faux wariness, "Are you sure you're not stalking me?"

Lisa grinned, "Stop teasing me," she complained good naturedly, enjoying his teasing very much.

Jackson gave both their drinks a stir with a little plastic cocktail stick. "I do enjoy a nice scotch," he conceded. "Though... I went through a phase in college where I only drank Mimosas." He handed her the shorthand cocktail.

"Mimosas? That's very manly," Lisa teased him back. "Where did you go to school?"

He hesitated - just for a moment but she didn't miss it - and self-doubt began to rise inside her until he turned to flash another boyish grin. "Yale. Go Bulldogs," he added wryly, pumping his fist in the air and Lisa giggled again, feeling silly.

Lisa didn't normally giggle. She didn't normally look up from under her eyelashes feeling shy. Most of all she normally never spoke to strange men - handsome and charming or otherwise. But after the very promising _one time only_ drink with Jackson at the airport bar in Dallas she couldn't deny the rush of excitement at finding him sitting in the seat next to hers on the flight.

She could have ignored him, feigned sleep maybe, but he was so nice about distracting her ("Was Henrietta your mom's mom or your dad's mom?") that she'd found herself drawn into conversation, and not too eager to cut him off.

After disembarking the plane, Jackson had fallen into step beside her, and walked with her to the taxi rank. It felt like a courteous, even gentlemanly display while they continued discussing Miami's hectic weather - nothing but small talk really, but Lisa was glad for it.

A taxi pulled up to the curb and Lisa looked tentatively at Jackson, "You take this one," she offered, always eager to please.

Jackson waved her off, "I have a car here," he explained. "It's all yours."

Lisa felt herself blush like a school girl at realizing he'd been waiting with her just for the sake of being with her. "Oh, alright," she agreed, as the cab driver shuffled around the car to take her bag. "Well... how long are you in town for?" She steeled her courage and smiled up at him, relieved to see delighted surprise flash across his face.

"A week or so I think," he said, his pale blue gaze capturing Lisa's. He searched her face with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed her. It struck Lisa as slightly out of character for the friendly stranger she'd spent the red-eye flight with and she shivered, not with fear but something that felt entirely inappropriate for 6AM at the airport taxi que.

"Oh," she managed to breathe, forcing herself to brave. "Maybe... if you're not too busy...?"

He lifted an eyebrow with amused curiosity while a kind smile tugged at his lips.

Lisa dug into her purse and plucked one of her Lux Atlantic business cards from the folds of her wallet. She handed the card over, nervous but unable to stop smiling stupidly. "My cell's on the back," she explained somewhat clunkily. "If you get bored."

Jackson gently lifted the business card from her fingers as if it were something precious. His eyes drifted across the gold and blue lettering before returning to her face.

"I'm certain I will be," he said, catching her gaze again.

Smoldering. Lisa would have described his eyes as smoldering in that moment and she forced an awkward laugh to lighten the tension growing in her chest.

The moment was broken by the cab driver waving at Lisa to get her attention. "Madam, I cannot leave the taxi here, please get in," he complained in heavily accented English, irritated by her stalling.

"Sorry!" Lisa apologized sheepishly, again pleasantly surprised when Jackson opened the cab door and gestured for her to climb in.

"Thanks," she smiled, feeling stupidly giddy, and slipped into the back of the cab.

"Maybe I'll see you soon," Jackson offered by way of a goodbye.

"Madam!" The cab driver exclaimed, then added something angry in a language Lisa didn't recognize. But Jackson seemed to. Once again she didn't miss the change in his face: eyes darkening and jaw clenching at the perceived rudeness of the driver.

A nervous chuckle caught in Lisa's throat. "Bye," she choked, giving Jackson a wave and pulling her feet into the cab.

His face transformed into the kind, easy smile again. "See you soon, Leese," he promised, and pushed the cab door closed for her.

Lisa let her head fall back against worn leather seat and released a disbelieving chuckle. That had been entirely unexpected. She took a moment to feel guilty for meeting a guy when she should have been grieving for her grandmother. Knowing Henrietta, the old lady would have been pleased by the nervous but excited energy now coursing through Lisa - _Always Move Forward_ , she reminded herself.

The taxi driver continued to mutter under his breath in a foreign language - Arabic maybe - and normally Lisa would have gone out of her way to appease him despite being the one who should have been on the receiving end of good customer service. But presently she just wanted to stare out at Miami's still-empty streets, allowing herself to wonder if Jackson would call and also, if she would answer.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The Hardest of Hearts

2.

 _ **Tehran.**_

 _ **Long ago.  
**_

 _The Villa was located in the outskirts of Tehran, squashed between two former palaces now owned by wealthy oil barons who dabbled in arms-dealing and terrorist-funding on the side. Traditional Iranian prints lined the walls and the hallways were all constructed in the shape of Islamic wheel arches - but despite the luxury the villa was completely deserted._

 _Jackson sprinted up the stairs to the rooftop garden, lavishly decorated with exotic palms and gossamer curtains. The floor was covered in rich Turkish rugs and large pillows of silk embroidered with golden thread. Jackson's pale eyes darted around the garden, searching for signs of life - or death - but only the family dog, a tiny Pomeranian named Beast, trotted into the garden and began barking imperiously at Jackson._

 _He let out a growl of frustration and spun in a desperate circle shouting, "Fatima!"_

 _The pistol in his hand was useless, all of the bullets spent with nothing to reload, but it felt better in his hand than nothing at all._

 _An elderly gentleman with chocolate-brown skin and a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose appeared at the top of the stairs behind Jackson. He wore a traditional Persian Kafkan made of heavy gold and maroon brocade with a wide embellished cummerbund and a white turban on top of his sparse white hair. "She is gone, Jackson," he explained in German over the sound of Beast yipping furiously. Though his voice was calm there was no mistaking the urgency in his eyes. "Fadid is coming for us. We must move quickly."_

 _Jackson fought the urge to kick Beast beast across the garden. "Is she safe?" He demanded, also in German._

 _"Of course she is," the gentleman looked at his watch. "How do you think Fadid discovered our plot?"_

 _Young and still slightly naive, Jackson shut his eyes and let out a long breath, absorbing the fact that they had been betrayed. "Fuck," he muttered glumly, the weight of this information laying heavily across his shoulders._

 _"Come," the gentleman commanded, retrieving a slim briefcase from behind a silk-embroidered love seat. "We will go to my brother's home in Damascus where we will be safe."_

 _Jackson loyally followed the gentleman back down the stairs, trying to keep his temper in check. He spotted a glock that had been left out on a spindly table on the landing, suggesting that_ despite appearances _this was not the home of your average wealthy Iranian family. After checking the clip Jackson tossed the useless pistol on the table and tucked the glock in the back of his suit trousers. He was certain it belonged to her, no one else would be so careless with a firearm._

 _His hands were shaking - but with rage or humiliating heartbreak, he wasn't quite sure_

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

Jackson walked slowly through the airport car park, frowning to himself as he mulled over the evening he'd spent with his Subject. Manipulating her by playing the nice-young-man card would put her ease, but he'd occasionally found himself slipping into his own relaxed tenor that some women in his life had described as _infuriating._ He knew he should have been pleased that he'd established a tentative trust with Lisa - it would make the job to come a much simpler affair. Perhaps rather than using her father he could use himself as bait. The first guy to come into her life in... probably forever from what he knew of her social life... in trouble with the wrong sort of people and needing her to make the call to change Keefe's room number...

No, that was too tenuous. The father was a necessary accessory - it was clear from the way she spoke about her family that her father was the most important person in her life. She would do anything to save her father - Jackson was sure of it.

He slid behind the wheel of the black BMW he'd rented for his stay in Miami, pursing his lips deep in thought as he settled into the black leather seat. Lisa had not been what he had expected. Instead of timid she was pleasantly feisty, though a tad unsure of herself. Instead of a depressive hermit he'd found her to be coy and friendly but most certainly hiding something. She was... intriguing and Jackson found that to his surprise, he actually liked her. He hardly ever liked anyone, especially those he was deceiving - or as he sometimes observed, those who _allowed_ him to deceive them.

But he liked Lisa - _Leese_ as he'd been thinking of her in his head for some weeks now. Jackson reasoned the pet name had sprung to mind so he didn't go mad from the banality of watching her live her tiny life.

Now he had an opportunity and a decision to make along with it: continue to tail her at a distance or engage her and play nice. Even if he _wasn't_ about to threaten her father and use her to kill a government official, it wasn't as though they could be friends - _friends_ and attachments were luxuries Jackson could not afford, never mind did not have time for.

His cell phone began to vibrate, and he was relieved to be pulled from his tangled thoughts. "Hello," he answered briskly, eager to know the details of why the hit had been called off at the _very_ last moment, just as the fasten seat-belt signs had come on.

"Yo," came the youthful drawl of the person only known as "Comms" to Jackson. "How was your flight, boss?" When Jackson didn't respond Comms continued, "Anyway... like I told you last night, complications with the Target's son means they stayed in DC and are headed straight to Savannah today. They're carrying on with the tour and making up Miami in ten days, at which point we'll replicate Plan A."

"What were the complications with the son?" Jackson asked, rubbing a hand across his jaw thoughtfully.

"Diabetic attack," Comms explained over the loud clacking of fingers striking a keyboard. "Emailing you the Target's updated schedule now."

Jackson ended the call and tossed his phone into the center console, considering his options. He could go back to his hotel for some sleep or get a bite to eat. A jog would have done his mental state wonders if he could find a stretch of deserted beach. Instead he found himself pulling out of airport parking and heading in the direction of the Lux Atlantic, where Lisa would surely already be behind the check in desk, smiling her fake pretty smile that was so different from the one she'd shown him all night.

* * *

Three days passed, during which Lisa grew somewhat disgusted with herself for checking her phone far too regularly - obsessively according to Cynthia.

"Did you meet a guy?" Cynthia asked slyly, watching as Lisa tried and failed to discretely peek at her phone once more. "Is _that_ what this is?"

"Don't be silly," Lisa scoffed. "I'm just..." She trailed off pathetically.

Cynthia beamed at her, "Who is he!"

"No one! There is _no_ guy!" Lisa insisted. "I just had... a nice conversation with someone on the flight back from Dallas. They're in Miami for a week so I just suggested we get a drink if they get bored. That's all."

"A _male_ someone?" Cynthia snickered knowingly.

Before Lisa could force an explanation an aggrieved-looking guest landed in front of them. "Are you the manager?" The woman demanded miserably, and Lisa leapt into action with a wide, fake smile.

In truth, Lisa had been relentlessly playing the parting from Jackson over and over in her mind until she convinced herself she'd imagined the electric connection between them, or perhaps she was just desperate for someone to... _want_ her. That thought scared her half to death - she hadn't been on a date, let alone taken someone to bed since she'd been attacked in the parking lot two years earlier. Thinking about that day made Lisa's stomach churn and an anxious flush crept up the back of her neck - no, she wasn't ready for a date. She had created a safe bubble for herself and she intended to remain in it, handsome strangers be damned.

She left the hotel three hours after her shift ended, turning down an invitation for cocktails with Cynthia, whom she suspected wanted to get her drunk and harass her about the mysterious man from the plane. Walking alone through the darkened parking lot always made Lisa anxious and she clutched her keys tight in her hand, allowing them to spread out between her fingers in case she needed to defend herself. What good what her keys be if someone was determined to attack her? She thought glumly, sulking whilst still looking nervously over her shoulder as she unlocked her car and climbed inside, locking the doors instantly.

Safety. She exhaled a long breath, trying to think happy meditative thoughts that would lighten the tension in her shoulders.

Several deep breaths later and Lisa felt moderately calmed, promising herself a glass of wine and a screening of _Casablanca_ when she got home.

She was startled out of the temporary calm by her phone abruptly bursting to life with its cheerful, high pitched ring, making Lisa gasp aloud as her hand flew to her chest.

"Shit," she huffed in annoyance, glaring down at the phone and expecting to see her father's beaming image pop up on the screen, most likely for another Facetime session where she would spend half the call explaining how the camera worked.

But instead of her father's familiar face, an unknown number with a Virginia area code cropped up instead.

Lisa picked up the phone, swallowing thickly. The idea of answering a call from someone she didn't know made her nervous. The idea of it being Jackson from the plane made her even more nervous. Feeling silly and stupid, she answered before the call went to voicemail, her voice cheery and sweet just like how she answered the phone at the Lux.

"Lisa Reisert."

"Hey Leese," came the friendly drawl of Jackson Rippner, mysterious and undeniably handsome stranger. "What are you up to on this lovely evening?"

Lisa couldn't stop a silly smile from breaking across her face. "Uh, Hi... Jackson. I'm just finishing work, actually."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I was just about to get a drink from someplace called... The Luau Lounge. Do you know it?"

"I know it," she replied, stifling laughter as she thought about the cheesy Hawaiian-themed cocktail bar a few short miles away from her house. "I could meet you there?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice as he smoothly replied, "I would like that very much, Leese."

* * *

The Luau Lounge was beyond cheesy but that was an intentional choice on Jackson's part. He hoped the tacky decor would help Lisa to relax; every time he'd caught sight of her in the few days since the red-eye flight she looked anxious and in need of a drink, either running to or from her car with her bag clutched under her arm or furiously cleaning her kitchen in the middle of the night. Jackson very seriously doubted she suspected him, and she gave no sign of knowing she was being followed; this was some sort of internal anxiety. So what had her in such a state?

Her agreeing to meet him wasn't especially surprising. The nervous energy rolling around Jackson's stomach as he waited for her caught him off guard.

This meeting was about strategy, he reminded himself, not about making _friends._ Guessing cocktails and chatting about grandparents was not his usual approach with women - in fact he didn't have to try very hard at all if a few hours of company was what his mood called for. A one night stand with Lisa was clearly not on the cards, but he was sick of the toothy smiles and boring small talk that would not truly reveal anything useful about her.

"Um, hi... Jackson?" Lisa appeared behind him and Jackson felt a wave of deja vu as he turned, reminded of her approaching him at the airport bar and how smug he'd felt having her fall into his trap.

She looked lovely in a trim black skirt and blazer over a lace-trimmed camisole and a pair of kitten heels that gave her an extra inch of height.

"Hi," Jackson greeted her with an easy smile, and gestured to the bar stool beside him. The nervous energy returned and he tried to distract himself by waving the bartender over. Another drink would help.

Lisa clambered up onto the bar stool and crossed her legs primly, looking like she didn't know what to do with herself aside from providing Jackson with a tiny smile.

"Bay Breeze?" He offered, fighting off the accusing tone threatening to creep into his voice.

"Ah, I think I'll go for a Sea Breeze," she corrected with a coy smile. "I need the simplicity of the grapefruit today."

Jackson's brow lifted in interest at this small but note-worthy concession on her part, and he relayed her order to the bartender.

"What's got you feeling so complicated?" He asked, cocking his head to the side to watch her reaction carefully while the bartender mixed her drink.

"Oh, you know," Lisa straightened in her seat and tucked an errant auburn curl behind her ear. "Just work. Maybe there's something in the air but all of our guests were being complete..."

She trailed off, not wanting to be rude, so Jackson helpfully supplied, "Assholes?"

Lisa laughed, lifting a hand to cover her mouth somewhat shyly. "Yeah, yes. But that's the customer service industry, isn't it?"

Jackson watched as she gratefully accepted her Sea Breeze from the bartender and took a large sip to calm her nerves.

"You must be doing something right if they keep coming back." It was a simple statement that fell into the category of polite small talk, but Jackson felt himself unintentionally infuse the words with meaning - perhaps how difficult he was finding it to stay away from her.

Lisa's brow creased a fraction but then she smiled again and shook off his comment. "I guess. You never mentioned what you do?"

He'd been preparing for this, making his tone dry as a bone, as though he had the most boring job in the world. "Consulting, mainly," he admitted. "Corporate mergers, high profile assassinations, government overthrows, the usual," he finished with a shrug.

It was the truth, and as someone whose professional career depended on peddling half-truths, Jackson knew it was only the _presentation_ of truth that mattered.

"Oh sure, nothing out of the usual," Lisa laughed, taking another delicate sip at her Sea Breeze. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Almost three years. Before that I was... in-house at a large firm."

"Sounds like stressful work," Lisa noted, looking impressed. "Do you like it?"

Jackson contemplated her question, wanting to answer truthfully again. His job was a mixed bag - the money was excellent and the work was satisfying insofar as he was good at choosing cases he could wrap up cleanly without getting bored. This Keefe job had been a complicated affair from the beginning but in many ways Jackson was enjoying the challenge of it... he knew it would be a challenge when he accepted and planned on taking a long-deserved vacation at the end of it.

"Wow, that's a long silence," Lisa grinned, shooting him a knowing look. "I think that answers my question."

"I was studying to be a lawyer..." Jackson found himself telling her, without planning on letting the words leave his lips. He paused, running his tongue over his teeth as he weighed continuing this line of conversation. "But life gets in the way sometimes, and takes us to unexpected places."

Lisa's expression muted somewhat as she contemplated something internally, and eventually she nodded sagely, "Life has a tendency get in the way. That's for sure."

Jackson felt the need to regain control over the conversation and downed the last of his scotch. "Do you like your job?"

"I love it," Lisa said immediately, almost too quickly which made Jackson chuckle and she rolled her eyes. "Some guests may be assholes, but I'm good at turning an angry guest's day around. I can read people, make them happy, get them to believe they're the ones in charge." She grinned slyly.

How very, very interesting, Jackson mused, staring at her openly then offering a sly smirk of his own.

"I'm awful at my job," he said dryly, propping his chin up on his fist. "That's why they've dumped me in Miami for ten days."

"Hey!" Lisa scoffed with exaggerated offence. "Miami is great! Maybe you just haven't seen the good parts yet."

Jackson bit his lip to stop a rude comment about her good parts, but his eyes drifted on their own accord down to where her shapely legs crossed at the knee. "Is that an offer?" His voice sounded husky to his own ears, and he nearly winced at the complete lack of self-control he was exercising.

Lisa fully blushed at the attention and looked down at her hands as though she wanted to hide from him. "Oh... well..." she flustered.

Feeling as though he'd been overtly lewd, Jackson hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean to be crude. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." She looked up at him shyly from beneath her lashes, trying to find a spark of courage. "I'm just... bad at this."

"At what?" He pushed, eager to hear her say something gratifying for his ego. It was pathetic. "Getting to know someone?" he suggested.

She chewed on her lower lip. "Yeah, I suppose," she admitted thoughtfully, looking down at her now empty glass and swirling the remaining ice around. "I've not spent much time _getting to know_ people recently."

He wanted to ask why. He wanted to shake her and tell her she was beautiful and charming and would have men - and women - crawling on their hands and knees to get to know her.

Instead, Jackson simply smiled crookedly and said, "It's getting late... Maybe we should call it a night?"

It was the right thing to say. Her posture relaxed and she smiled graciously at him. "Did you... say you're only in Miami for another ten days?"

He didn't fail to notice the disappointment in her voice. Ten days. Ten days until the Keefe assassination could be carried out. Ten days of awful cable news at his hotel and drinking alone and following Lisa from work to her house and back again. Ten days until he would scare the living daylights out of her and force her to do something terrible she would never forgive him for.

"Ten days," he confirmed smoothly. "I'd like to see you again before I go. If that's okay with you, of course."

If that's okay with you, of course? The nice-guy routine was becoming alarmingly second nature to him.

But once again, it was the right thing to say, because Lisa was beaming at him and then he was beaming back at her - partially because he knew it would put her at ease, but also because he couldn't help himself.

"I'd like that," she said eagerly, eyes shining.

Jackson walked Lisa to her car, a cute and practical little Jetta freshly washed courtesy of Miami's frequent thunderstorms.

She unlocked her car and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she opened the door. "This was fun," she conceded ruefully.

"I thought so too," he agreed with a nod. He could tell she was stalling, leaning a few inches towards the car then back a few towards him. The air between them grew thick with tension like when you're walking a girl home from a date and can't decide if it's time to go in for the big kiss. Did she want him to kiss her? The thought zipped through Jackson like a thunderbolt, and he wondered what kissing Lisa would feel like.

Instead, he shook these dangerous thoughts off and leaned in to peck her on the cheek. "It was good to see you, Leese."

She wavered a second longer before finally giving Jackson a tiny wave and a whispered "bye", and slipped into her car.

He watched her pull out of the parking lot and drive in the familiar direction of her condo before climbing into the his own car when he could no longer see her little Jetta in the distance. Normally, he would have followed but she knew what his car looked like now, and she would be acutely aware of his presence lurking if he wasn't incredibly cautious.

Jackson scrubbed his hands roughly over his eyes and abruptly banged his fist against the steering wheel. "Fuck," he muttered, frustrated with himself for being so unprofessional about a Subject. Yes it was a messy job, but that didn't mean he needed to make things worse by _daydreaming_ about kissing Lisa. He promised himself he would go back to the hotel and watch the news rather than sit out front of Lisa's condo until she went for her 6AM jog, at which point he would follow her to the beach, wait for her and follow her back to the condo until she was ready for work.

Surveillance was part of his job and yet today it felt far too akin to actual stalking and voyeurism, which was deeply troubling.

Jackson's phone beeped to notify him that an unread message was waiting and, blowing air out from between his teeth, he retrieving his phone from his pocket while twisting keys into the ignition with his free hand. He could only pray it wasn't another twist in the Keefe plan - Jackson had literally had more than he could stand of this damn job. It was complicated behind the scenes - the parties involved - but the practicality of pulling it off should have been simple. If it weren't for the fact that the latest delay had been due to Keefe's son's diabetes, Jackson would have been inclined to think the Secret Service had caught on to the plan and were intentionally making his life difficult.

The radio turned on with the car, a soft ballad sung by a warbly female and Jackson wearily examined his phone, anticipating the worst. But there was no message waiting. His eyes slid towards the center console, wondering if he'd imagined the beep or if the burner phone stashed in the console had come to life.

Sensing something bad was to come, Jackson reluctantly flipped open the console and dug his hand in, plucking out an ancient flip phone that was buzzing and glowing blue. His eyes widened when he saw the number had an Austrian area code. There was only one person he knew in Austria who would get touch on this number, and Jackson suddenly had the sensation that his internal organs had turned to ice as he read the text message.

 _Fatima is looking for you. NK._

* * *

 **A/N: Heeyyaaaaa the plot is there! Look! It's a plot!**

 **Please review ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

The Hardest of Hearts

3.

 _ **Moscow.**_

 _ **Not long ago.**_

 _The beginning of Summer always brought strange weather to Moscow. Dreary clouds passed overhead and fat drops of rain fell occasionally from the heavens only to be replaced by blinding sunshine before you could blink. Ana never knew what shoes to put on in the morning when the weather was like this - she preferred the freezing cold winters when snow was piled high and life carried more certainty._

 _She had just finished her shift at the Government Library where the Americans had planted her three years previously. Though she was born in the Ukraine, Ana had spent all of her adult life in Russia posing as a Russian citizen; first for her native government and now for the United States. She had no contact with relatives or friends or other operatives working undercover in the former Soviet Union. She was alone aside from occasional correspondence over the deep web with SY83._

 _Ana did not know if SY83 was one person or many people or even a robot, but she dutifully passed on any information she managed to collect on Russian affairs - whether they would be helpful to the US or not. Although the land of the free and the home of the brave liked to think itself altruistic, Ana had learned long ago that their leaders were not quite so humanitarian as their citizens needed to believe._

 _She managed to beat the rain home, kicking off her boots after crossing the threshold to her tiny flat. Leaning back against the closed door, Ana sighed shakily and dipped her hand into her jacket pocket, her fingers brushing over the precious USB stick hidden there._

 _There wasn't much time. She had been sloppy when hacking the Kremlin's financial records, and once she'd discovered what the Russians were hiding she had lingered longer than she should have. They would have tracked the hack to the Government Library and soon they would come looking for her._

 _Ana let out a loud breath and pulled a half empty bottle of vodka off the shelf as she planted herself in front of a laptop connected to multiple external hard-drives and an extensive network of routing cables - modifications that would make it impossible for the Russians to trace communication with America. She plugged in the USB stick and took a long drink of vodka straight from the bottle, wincing and shaking her head as it burned its way down her throat._

 _The USB stick began uploading instantly, decryption software translating information while Ana connected to the deep web and set up a chat with TR83._

Information transfer - urgent, _she typed in English._

 _There was a pause before SY83 began typing, words popping with a dull beep._

Begin transfer. Explain urgency.

 _Ana typed a series of commands and the data from the USB stick began transferring, a blue status bar growing longer across the bottom of the screen. Once the transfer was complete Ana typed out the most basic message she could manage to communicate the complex web she had discovered._

Russian mole has infiltrated high level US government. Financial records and other correspondence with mole transferring now.

 _SY83 downloaded the information and logged off without relaying another message, and Ana leaned back in her chair sighing in exhaustion and taking another long sip of vodka._

 _She nearly fell out of her chair when a heavy fist began beating on her front door. It was followed by the sounds of multiple men shouting her false Russian name and struggling with the lock. It took Ana a moment to decide whether she would allow herself to be captured or if she would run. Capture was risky but it was what the Americans would want. That made escape a much more dangerous prospect._

 _Making up her mind, Ana yanked the laptop free of the table, tearing the wires out in her hurry. Quicker than she had moved in a very long time, she shot to the window and chucked the laptop out onto the wet street below where it shattered. Looking once over her shoulder to see men breaking down her front door, Ana hurtled herself out the window, landing in a garbage bin not far away the debris of the laptop._

 _From there, she ran._

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

Jackson stayed up all night searching the internet for news that might hide clues as to what he was about to be sucked into. In the background, cable news was rolling twenty-four hour coverage, the volume turned all the way up so he wouldn't miss any key information. Though Jackson wouldn't normally drink while he worked, the implications of the cryptic text message had him routinely investigating the mini bar.

 _Fatima is looking for you._

His contact could not have been more ambiguous if he tried, Jackson mused darkly, and pulled another small bottle of Johnny Walker Black from the mini bar. He unscrewed the cap with an aggrieved grunt and tipped half the amber liquid down his throat, wincing at the satisfying burn on his tongue.

As dawn approached there was a quiet knock on his hotel room door. Jackson hesitated from his spot on the bed, glaring at the door suspiciously. Rising to his feet, his hand twitched towards the side table where an as-of-yet unnecessary handgun sat in the drawer. Another slightly louder knock spurred him forward, and he drew the gun from the drawer, turned off the safety and strode with purpose across the room, keeping the weapon concealed behind his back.

Pausing a breath to collect himself, Jackson opened the door a fraction to see a bell boy with a thick manila envelop waiting patiently in the hall.

"Mr. Rippner?"

Jackson lifted an expectant eyebrow, "Yes?" He asked warily.

The bell boy handed over the envelop with a polite nod. "This just arrived for you, sir."

Still wary but not wanting to arouse suspicion, Jackson took the envelop and tipped the bell boy, sending him on his way.

The door slammed shut and he fell against it, turning the gun's safety mechanism back on with one hand while rubbing his tired eyes with the other.

He was physically exhausted from not sleeping - though he had gone much longer without - but his mind was spinning relentlessly, almost erratically which was definitely not conducive to a productive job. Jackson considered the envelop for a moment before tearing into it, half expecting to find a finger or a similarly sinister message within. Instead, it was a thick stack of papers extensively detailing Keefe's travel plans for the following week.

"For fuck's sake," Jackson muttered to himself, flinging the envelope and it's contents on the bed in annoyance.

The papers were an irritating reminder that he was already on one job that had become unpleasantly messy - to let an ancient grudge and a vague text message steal his concentration could threaten the entire Keefe mission.

Jackson replaced the handgun in the side-table drawer and made the decision to focus on Lisa; perhaps the impending sense of dread distracting him would retreat if he focused on her upcoming... predicament.

There was only one thing for it; he would continue to engage her and then betray her in nine days time. Now that she knew his face, knew what he drank, knew how he laughed - now she was the dangerous one with all the details. Jackson had betrayed equally charming and attractive women in the past, but Lisa was clever and he had been sloppy with her thus far.

With these thoughts roiling through his head, Jackson typed out a text message as though the recipient were his only savior. _Want to grab lunch?_

It was actually pathetic, Jackson reflected, watching as a text bubble began to ripple when Lisa typed her reply.

 _Sure! I have today off. Let's go to South Beach so you can see how great Miami is._

Jackson allowed himself an amused snort and began digging through his suitcase for more casual clothes than the suit he still wore from the night before.

Cable news continued to blast in the background, and as Jackson shrugged out of his shirtsleeves he nearly choked when the anchor began speaking - " _News from Tehran today indicates that billionaire Fadid al-Ahdal, owner of Iran's largest oil fields, died this weekend of complications from heart disease. al-Ahdal took over management of the National Iranian Petrol Corporation in 1978, only months before the Iranian hostage crisis of 1979 when fifty-two American diplomats were held the American embassy in Tehran for 444 days. al-Ahdal has long been suspected of supporting terrorism in the region, with links to both Hezbolah and Hamas as well as notorious anti-Israeli figures in the middle-east."_

Jackson clapped both hands over his eyes and let them slide down his face. _"Fuck,"_ he hissed

* * *

It was a fantastically sunny day, the kind of weather that made Lisa happy that she lived in Florida despite its many flaws. She tilted her chin up to the cloudless blue sky, enjoying the feel of the sun warming her face. Enjoying the weather was a rather abstract idea for Lisa, who worked too much and felt exposed going to the park or the beach by herself - plus bikinis didn't particularly agree with her anyway thanks to the unsightly scar crossing her chest.

Lisa wrinkled her nose thinking about the long red mark under her sleeveless but intentionally high-necked top. Today was not about being afraid of being in public. She was having lunch with a friend on the beach, something Lisa hadn't done in far too long. Long enough that she had to utilize Google to find a place to take Jackson so as not to look like the pathetic shut-in she actually was.

She spotted him waiting for her where the pavement met the sand on the boardwalk. Instead of the dark tailored suits she'd seen him in thus far he wore a polo shirt and chinos, his pale eyes covered by a pair of black Ray Bans and looking like he was about to lead a boating party in the Hamptons. Maybe he was from New England, Lisa mused, and maybe he spent his holidays in the Hamptons. She allowed herself a brief fantasy about a yacht off the coast of South Fork, sipping white wine and laughing happily with friends decked out in Ralph Lauren while Jackson put his arm around her shoulders and topped up her glass.

Lisa was jolted from her daydream when Jackson turned away from the ocean towards her, almost as though he could sense her presence and Lisa forced herself to move forward.

"Hello," he gave her a secretive smile and lowered his sunglasses to look at her over the top of the lenses as she approached. "Fancy seeing you here."

Lisa immediately noticed that his eyes were ringed with dark circles speaking to a lack of sleep, and from the looks of it he hadn't shaved either. She covered her concern with a bright smile and pushed her cat-eye sunglasses on top of her head. "How was the rest of your night?" She asked politely as they began to stroll down the promenade.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead in a way that suggested he often had trouble getting it to behave, and gave her a sideways smirk. "I didn't get much sleep, if I'm honest," he told her conspiratorially.

"Oh dear," Lisa winced sympathetically, enjoying slipping into their easy conversation. "That doesn't sound too fun."

"Are you hungry?" He asked, "I'm starving. Where's this local color you promised me?"

He grinned rakishly at her, and Lisa slid her sunglasses back on to hide her blush.

She took him to a seafood place where the tables rested in the hot sand. Women in skimpy neon bikinis were sunning themselves nearby and just down the beach a group of oiled-up body builders were playing an intense-looking game of volleyball. It all felt very Miami, Lisa thought as couples wearing roller-blades streamed past on the boardwalk. It made her feel a bit sad, that this vibrant world carried on turning while she was hiding indoors.

Although Jackson was doing his best to hide it, Lisa could tell something was bothering him aside from a lack of sleep. He would run his hand through his hair every now and then like an anxious twitch and avoided her questions about his work, instead asking her about her childhood and her parents. Lisa found herself telling him about her parents' divorce, a topic she generally steered away from as it felt uncomfortable and private, not for a stranger's ears. But Jackson didn't really feel like a stranger - in fact in their brief acquaintance she had felt abnormally at ease with him, as though she'd known him for years.

It made her nervous, honestly, this shared, immediate connection they seemed to have; but like a spark in the darkness, she was pulled towards it.

Jackson was just a nice man she was practicing spending time with, she told herself forcefully. It was easy to talk and lightly flirt with him because there was no pressure. He would be leaving in a week and life would go on. Maybe, just maybe, after he left she would manage to pluck up some courage and talk to another handsome stranger who could perhaps become something more to her.

After fish tacos and a pitcher of Mimosas (Jackson had sent Lisa an accusing look when she suggested the cocktail; "I should have taken that secret to the grave") Jackson seemed somewhat more relaxed and stopped fussing with his hair quite so much. He told her about being shipped off to military school as a teenager, sharing what sounded like a truncated version of his life story about being raised by a single father who couldn't keep an eye on him. It felt incredibly personal, and Lisa could tell it wasn't something he often shared. The connection between them seemed to grow even stronger if possible.

Of course, Lisa's phone started ringing incessantly right about when Cynthia started her shift, and she sighed heavily as the Lux's number flashed across her phone screen.

"I thought this was your day off," Jackson smirked wryly at her.

Lisa shrugged. "I don't think there's such a thing as a day off for me... I'm sorry about this," she added when the Lux tried calling a second time.

As expected it was Cynthia, panicking about the hotel running out of Cristal and a very unhappy guest. As Jackson paid their bill, Lisa tried to calm her friend and colleague, giving her the number of a retailer who would restock within an hour.

"Just make sure there's enough for Keefe when he comes in next week," she told Cynthia.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jackson stiffen suddenly at the mention of Keefe, before running a hand through his hair once again. Lisa frowned, wondering what Jackson knew about the Director of Homeland Security and making a mental note to slip Keefe into the conversation again to see how he would react if she addressed it directly.

They agreed to walk off the Mimosas and kicked their shoes off so they could stroll down the beach barefoot. It was impossible to miss some of the skimpy bikini girls staring as they passed by, their painted eyes zeroing in on Jackson who seemed completely oblivious to the attention. Lisa would have hated drawing that kind of attention from the opposite sex but that didn't stop her from feeling something akin to jealousy over Jackson's effortless smoothness.

She decided to rattle that smoothness, pushing the subject of his work, which he was so evasive about. "What are you working on at the moment?"

Jackson tensed a fraction before replying. "Oh, boring stuff. Right now we have a big corporate merger. Unfortunately, one business isn't going to come out alive."

"Yikes," Lisa replied. Her phone began to ring in her handbag and she pulled it out, not surprised to see it was the Lux again. "Oh God... I'm sorry."

"Let me guess," He grinned at her, his pale eyes shining. "It isn't usually like this?"

"Oh it is," she corrected, contemplating not answering but in the end, giving in and taking Cynthia's panicked call. She wrapped it up quickly and dropped her phone back into her handbag. "That is the last time I'm answering," she announced.

Jackson chuckled good-naturedly, "Good thing you love your job..."

"Yeah," Lisa conceded unhappily. "Sometimes I wonder if the hotel business isn't right for me. I'm in my element when I'm dealing with guests but sometimes... sometimes the emphasis that's put on running out of champagne and vomit in the kids' pool isn't all that inspiring."

"Have you thought about doing something else client-facing?" Jackson suggested mildly.

Lisa pondered this for a moment; she had considered switching industries many times, but after the attack she hadn't been interested in doing much of anything aside from going to work and getting home. The idea of starting a new career was almost as daunting as the idea of going on a date with a stranger. Yet here she was, on what could have been considered a second date if she hadn't convinced herself it was simply lunch with a friend on the beach.

It grew into late afternoon, the sun slowly sinking as tourists and locals abandoned the beach. Lisa and Jackson found an empty spot near some tall grass where they could sit and continue chatting. Somewhere behind them a beach-side bar was playing the _Piña Colada_ song and Lisa realized she had not had such a nice, relaxing day in as long as she could remember.

Lisa was telling him about her year abroad in Florence and how she minored in Italian but hadn't spoken the language in years.

 _"Come è il tuo Italiano,"_ he asked her, waggling his eyebrows. Annoyingly, his accent was remarkably on point.

"That's not bad," she told him begrudgingly, though she was smiling. "Are you sure you don't speak Italian?"

Jackson laughed lightly and popped his sunglasses on top of his head so they held his hair out of his face. "I speak Spanish. They're pretty close aren't they?"

Lisa admired his profile for as long as she could get away with it - he had delicate features and long eyelashes like a girl, and she thought she'd never seen a man who could be described as both beautiful and masculine at the same time. It was an alluring dichotomy and Lisa forced herself to look out at the ocean so she wouldn't get caught staring.

A memory suddenly struck her, piquing her curiosity about him once more. "Do you speak any other languages?" She asked lightly, thinking about the cab driver from the airport snapping at her. "That taxi driver at the airport said something to me in a foreign language - I don't know which - and you seemed to understand him."

Jackson raised one eyebrow and examined Lisa appraisingly. "Arabic," he said at last, his face impassive as he observed, "You _are_ very good at reading people, aren't you."

"Hotel business. You have to be able to find out what makes someone tick - the customer is always right after all." Lisa shrugged by way of explanation. She wasn't nearly done investigating this revelation about him. "Does the corporate-merger-consulting business take you to the Middle East often?" She asked lightly.

" _Nem fielaan_ ," he replied with a lilting accent, then smirked. "Yes. Yeah I've been over there a few times. I've always thought it's polite to speak to clients in their own language."

" _Nem fielaan,"_ Lisa tried, feeling a little silly. "Is Arabic hard to learn?"

"No harder than Spanish or Italian," he looked at his watch and released a chuckle of disbelief. "You know, we've been out here for almost seven hours."

"Seven hours?" Lisa repeated incredulously. The wind picked up for a moment and whipped her hair around her face while she tried to bat it away. "I guess time really does fly when you're having fun, right?"

"This was fun," Jackson confirmed slyly. "But I think I have to get back to my hotel before it gets too late."

"Oh, okay," Lisa started getting to her feet, disappointed that they were parting once more. She tried to think of something clever to say about showing him more of Miami but her tongue felt tied so she wrapped her arms around herself and shifted awkwardly in the sand.

"Are you cold?" Jackson asked, slinging a casual arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to his side.

Lisa practically melted into the half-embrace, the smell of his aftershave stroking some dormant pleasure cell deep in her brain. She gathered her courage, feeling braver than she had in a long time and twisted to smile up at Jackson. "No, I'm not cold," she said softly, her eyes drifting to Jackson's lips.

There was an electric charge between them, and without thinking, Lisa raised up on her toes, feeling like a magnet was drawing her mouth towards his.

Just before their lips could meet, Jackson jerked back as though she was about to slap him instead of kiss him and the moment ended abruptly.

Lisa felt like cold water had been poured over her head, and she could feel her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment, her bravery abandoning her immediately.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she cringed, mortified. She shrugged out from under his arm and turned away so he wouldn't see her humiliation. "That was - I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," he insisted, running his hand through his hair and looking conflicted. "It's just... I'm leaving in nine days and I don't want to..." He seemed to struggle with words, and frowned deeply like someone who wasn't used to being speechless.

Lisa waved her hands dismissively. "Let's just forget it," she suggested, still not meeting his eye. "You're right, of course. I can totally appreciate that."

He pursed his lips in frustration and they walked to their cars in silence.

"Thanks for the day out, Leese," he said at last as Lisa unlocked her car. "Miami isn't so bad after all."

He kissed her demurely on the cheek and offered a strained smile.

Lisa returned the smile awkwardly and slid into her car. She waited until Jackson was out of sight across the parking lot before she slammed her fist into her steering wheel, making the horn beep once. "Damnit," she muttered.

She was mortified over her impulsive attempt to kiss him only to be flatly rejected.

But beyond that, Lisa was shocked at her own audacity and the lack of fear - embarrassment, of course but not the fear she would expect at getting _so close_ to embracing a man she was painfully attracted to.

And she couldn't help feeling there had been something decidedly off about Jackson aside from a lack sleep. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but for once she wasn't afraid - far from it. Jackson peaked her curiosity like no one had ever done before. Unfortunately for Lisa, it didn't appear that the same could be said for him.

* * *

A lonely hotel room was not a welcome sight after a day spent at the beach with a beautiful, charming, sexy girl.

Jackson sat heavily on the foot of bed, and kicked off his sandy shoes as he worked through his thoughts. The entire drive back to the hotel he had allowed himself to fantasize about kissing Lisa on the beach - she had just raised up on her toes and tilted her head to the side, leaning in to kiss him in such a sweet, normal way that vastly contrasted with every "romantic" encounter Jackson had experienced since as far back as he could remember.

His brain had caught up with the rest of him seconds before their lips met, alarm bells going off telling him this was his Subject he was about to kiss, his Subject that he _wanted_ to kiss. It was a cardinal rule that you didn't kiss Subjects for pleasure, just for manipulation. It was almost too late when Jackson realized he was no longer in control and had reeled away from her, somewhat shocked that he let his guard slip so dramatically but doing his best to hide it from her.

Then there was awkward apologizing.

Irritated with himself, Jackson made a trip to the mini bar and let loose a stream of creative curses when he discovered the maid hadn't stocked the fridge, leaving him with beer and gin to soothe his restless mind.

A few stolen hours at the beach had been a wonderful vacation from the reality of his job in Miami. Lisa was a curious and insightful person which would inevitably make things much more difficult. She had noticed him react to the cab driver calling her a bitch in Arabic. She had picked up on his sour and depressed mood when he was using everything in his arsenal to cover it up. And, he was fairly certain she had noticed his surprise to her discussing Keefe on the phone. His brow had only twitched a fraction but he had felt her eyes swing towards him in the moment.

Damnit. Why couldn't she have just been stupid. That would have made everything so much easier.

Jackson decided he'd dug himself in this far, he may as well continue lurking around Lisa and enjoy her company until she learned his true purpose in Miami. Then she would swiftly hate him. It would be nothing new - people being threatened and backed into corners would always hate their aggressor - but they were just part of a larger picture and even if they couldn't see him ruining their day being a necessary evil, Jackson would carry out his task for the greater good.

Unless of course the job was for profit only and not the greater good. Those cases it was harder to justify.

This dark train of thought led Jackson back to his troubles from the night before, and he retrieved the burner phone from the desk.

Selecting one of only three numbers stored in the phone, Jackson typed out a brief message and sent it after a pause while he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He pressed send.

 _Intel from Austria for you. JR._

* * *

 **A/N: Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

The Hardest of Hearts

4.

 _ **Bogota.**_

 _ **A few years earlier.**_

 _Columbia was boiling hot, sticky with humidity and occupied by aggressive fleas and monstrous mosquitoes. Jackson was not a huge fan of the country but they were treating him well. The paramilitary gangs, or_ bandas criminales emergentes _, who had taken control of the drug trade from the cartels had piles of cash and no idea what to do with it. All their leaders knew was that there were politicians who would make life difficult if certain legislature was passed, and Jackson had proved he was more than capable of solving these problems for them._

 _He was essentially a mercenary, but that didn't particularly bother him. He'd done worse things in his life than plan the quiet assassinations of corrupt politicians. Besides, he was set up in a large, air conditioned house just outside the city with a pool and tennis courts, and fresh fruit delivered to his kitchen table every morning. Had he been so inclined, there were women and drugs aplenty to keep him entertained, but after a few instances of overindulging in both he concluded the lifestyle was not for him._

 _Instead of playing, like the drug lords encouraged, he worked. That was all he knew now. He had been chased from Eurasia by an overenthusiastic CIA agent named Sykes. They couldn't extradite Jackson from the Middle East, but it became bad for Jackson's business partners for him to be constantly avoiding the relentless Agent Sykes in the region._

 _So he had absconded to Columbia with enough money to live a comfortable life until the heat died down and he could get back to work._

 _Most South American countries had extradition laws with the US - luckily they were also very corrupt countries. That corruption invariably led Jackson to find work with the bandas criminales emergentes to keep him occupied._

 _One hot, sticky evening at a bar in downtown Bogota, Jackson was treating himself to a glass of Aguardiente, an anais-flavored local liquor that was too sweet for his palate. He had just come from a meeting with one of the bandas criminales leaders who needed proof that a political candidate had been suitably taken care of. The man's severed thumb and pictures of the corpse on Jackson's iPhone had been proof enough. The drug lords all roared with laughter, slapping Jackson on the back_ _affectionately as they guffawed about how the gringo was settling into their way of life nicely. Jackson tolerated the attention, waiting patiently until they handed over a suitcase with 500,000 dollars cash._

 _Jackson sipped at the spiced amber liquid, mulling over how much longer he would stay in Columbia, or if he would end up getting shot before he had a chance to leave._

 _A man in a Panama hat and a shirt with a tropical print slid onto the bar stool beside Jackson and ordered a beer. His Spanish wasn't bad but Jackson immediately pegged him as an American, and shifted his eyes sideways to take in the man's profile. There was something familiar about the straight nose and puffy lips, and Jackson almost jumped out of his seat when the man removed his hat and turned to face him directly._

 _"Hello, Jackson."_

 _After a long pause where Jackson considered bolting or shooting this man in the face, he simply addressed him; "Agent Sykes."_

 _"I sure am," Sykes replied easily, taking a long sip of his beer. "Damn, that's good. How the hell are you dealing with this heat?" He fanned himself with the Panama hat._

 _Jackson felt his lip curl; he despised faux camaraderie, especially from someone who had so thoroughly interrupted his life. "What can I do for you, Agent." His tone was dripping with condescension. "Come to cart me back to the US? That's not going to work out for either of us."_

 _Sykes ignored the comment. "You've made quite the life for yourself down here, haven't you." He looked around the dive bar thoughtfully - soccer playing on an out-dated television on the bar top, the bartender occasionally stopping his work to shout in Spanish at the screen, a few old drunks hunkered down over their hard alcohol, waiting for the day to pass into night. "I've had quite the time tracking you down, buddy."_

 _"What do you want," Jackson asked stiffly. He wondered if the bartender would get very angry if he shot a CIA agent at his bar. A few hundred dollars would buy his and his patrons' silence. A few hundred more and they'd probably get rid of the body for him. Jackson discreetly edged his hand towards the gun in the holster under his armpit._

 _"I have a proposition for you," Sykes said, the fake camaraderie abruptly leaving his voice. "A business opportunity."_

 _Jackson let his hand rest on the butt of the gun, intrigued but still suspicious. "I'm listening," he replied flatly._

 _Sykes drained the last of his beer and waved at the bartender for another. "Dos," he said gesturing to Jackson. He didn't speak until their beers were opened in front of them. "You thought you managed to shake me the last few months, didn't you."_

 _Silence was difficult when Sykes was purposefully winding him up, but Jackson managed to fix the agent with a cold stare harboring a deadly promise._

 _"Quite the glare you got there, Rippner. Anyway... You didn't shake me. You just turned out to be too much of a pain in the ass to bring in. So I looked elsewhere for... help. Turns out good help isn't easy to come by after all."_

 _Jackson's eyes narrowed, and he refused to remove his icy stare from Sykes' face, watching for every twitch, every slight reaction, every thought he could read there._

 _"What do you want?"_

 _Sykes leaned in, folding both arms on the bar and fixing Jackson with a cold stare of his own. "You speak Arabic?"_

 _"...Yes."_

 _"You know people in Cairo?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"How do you feel about dictators?"_

 _"Ambivalent."_

 _"How about coup d'état - any moral compunction there?"_

 _Jackson raised one eyebrow, his suspicion fading into curiosity._

 _"That's what I thought," Sykes said, sipping his beer. "Are you interested?"_

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

Lisa always tried to spend Sundays with her father. They tended to speak on the phone multiple times a day, but she always appreciated time with her father, especially in the three years since her parents' divorce, and even more so in the two years since the attack that left her with her scar. It was comforting to be near him, and comforting to know he was not alone either.

Her father suggested they start their Sunday with brunch followed by one of his favourite father-daughter activities: a few hours' practice at the local gun range.

After the attack, Lisa had refused to go to the police. What would they be able to do? She had already been violated, and they couldn't take that pain away. Her father worried endlessly, trying to force her into therapy which she also refused. That was about the time the Dr. Phil books had started arriving on her doorstep from Amazon in record numbers courtesy of her father.

Finally they came to an agreement - Lisa would own a gun despite her distaste for them, and she would learn how to shoot so she was prepared should she ever need to protect herself.

The gun range was almost always cold with it's high powered air conditioning, and that Sunday it was a welcome relief from the humidity outside. Lisa allowed herself to relax as she adjusted her grip on her weapon and took aim. It may have been her type-A personality or her obsessive attention to detail, but she always surprised herself at what a good shot she actually was. Of course, it delighted her father, ever the beaming proud parent over his child's achievements.

After a light snack at a nearby cafe they returned to Joe's house for dinner, discussing the new golf course that had opened nearby while they chopped vegetables for dinner.

As they settled onto the couch with plates heaped with lasagna to watch a light-hearted sit-com, Lisa couldn't help but feel that being at home with her father was wonderfully simple. She had a vision of how easy it would be to move home and climb into her old bed and never leave - to not deal with the world outside or the harm that might come to her. The thought made her feel disgusted with herself and she dug into her lasagna to hide her suddenly sour mood.

On the coffee table her phone buzzed twice indicating a message and Lisa's mood immediately washed away when she leaned forward to check the screen.

It was from Jackson.

 _How has your Sunday been?_

Lisa felt something foreign flutter happily in her belly.

"Well, there's a smile I haven't seen in a while," Joe grinned toothily at Lisa who ducked her head and shoveled a forkful of lasagna into her mouth to hide her embarrassment.

"I don't know what you mean," she replied loftily, and after a few beats of silence, tried to discretely retrieve her phone to tap out a response.

 _Not too bad, thanks. Dinner with my Dad. How was yours?_

She could feel her father shooting her curious looks so she cleared her throat loudly and set her phone down calmly, though inside she was beginning to worry she'd responded too quickly or maybe too coldly or maybe even too enthusiastically.

Lisa returned her gaze to the cheesy sit-com, watching with blind eyes while her ears strained to hear the beeps abd vibrations indicating a message from Jackson - Jackson who was thinking about her and wanted to know about her Sunday.

"You okay, sweetie?" Joe asked kindly, frowning in her direction.

"I'm fine, Dad," Lisa said, smiling genuinely.

"Are you sure?" He pushed gently, then held his hands up in surrender when Lisa shot him a withering look. "Sorry, sweetie. You know how I worry."

Beep beep.

Ignoring her phone with great restraint, Lisa escaped to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Since she was the only one who really looked after her dad anymore she made an effort to convert him to healthier living, including exchanging beer for herbal tea at night.

As expected, her dad wrinkled his nose when Lisa set the tray of tea and saucers down on the coffee table.

"It's good for you," Lisa insisted, laughing as she picked up her phone.

 _Trapped in my hotel room with work and take-out. Is all the food in Miami this bad?_

"Now I know that's not a coincidence," Joe said smugly, and Lisa's head shot up defensively.

"I don't know what you mean, Dad."

"Yes you do," Joe teased, squinting with fake suspicion. "Who's text messaging you? A young man?"

Lisa rolled her eyes, suddenly feeling much younger than her twenty-eight years. "People say 'texting' not 'text messaging'... and none of your business."

"Anyone who makes you smile like that is my business," Joe insisted, turning back to the TV in time for a bad joke to be delivered by one of the show's main characters. While Joe burst into laughter Lisa used the distraction to reply.

 _That is so untrue! There is plenty of good food in Miami. Have you been to Little Havana yet?_

The credits of the sit-com began to roll and Joe sighed loudly, leaning back in his big comfy chair. "I love that show. It gets me every time!"

He chuckled and Lisa nodded her agreement with more enthusiasm than was necessary, earning another curious look from her father.

 _I haven't. Sounds like I'm missing out._

 _Maybe I'll take you there sometime._

"Okay, seriously!" Joe exclaimed as the evening news' loud intro theme began to play.

Lisa's head snapped up again, assuming she'd been caught, but her dad had simply started complaining about a news anchor he found especially annoying.

"Everyone has the iPads now. At the grocery store, on the news. What's wrong with good-old-fashioned pen and paper, huh?"

 _How about tomorrow night?_

"Yeah, it's weird," Lisa offered distractedly as she considered her reply. She was being asked out. Really asked out on a date.

 _I finish work at seven. Can you pick me up?_

The news opened with a special report about illegal Russian military exercises being carried out off the coast of Turkey, much to the Turkish government and NATO's dismay.

Joe scoffed in disgust. "Goddamn Russians. It's only a matter of time before they come for us."

Lisa laughed outright at that. "Dad, the Russians are not coming for us. We're safe here in Florida."

"Oh sure," her dad settled down in his arm char and fixed Lisa with a pointed look. "You're lucky you didn't grow up with the threat of nuclear bombs being dropped by the Soviets whenever they felt like it."

"That's because the Cold War is over, dad," Lisa grinned.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetie," Joe took large swallow of his tea and made a face. "You haven't heard what they're saying on the web - Russia is trying to undermine our entire way of life."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Please tell me you're not reading conspiracy theories online again."

"It's only a conspiracy until it's the truth," Joe retorted sagely. "And then it's too late."

"Okay, well, i'll keep my eyes open for nefarious Russians," she agreed, trying to keep a straight face and failing. "But I still think you're being silly."

Lisa returned to her phone to see a message from Jackson that made her giddy: _It's a date_

* * *

 _It's a date._

Jackson set his phone aside on the bed with a bewildered half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He let out a chuckle of disbelief and read the message again before pressing send.

What a wonderful distraction from the shit storm he had ahead of him.

New intelligence on Keefe had been delivered earlier in the afternoon, accompanied by a coded message from his employers informing him that the mission was more critical than ever and failure was not an option. And oh boy, did Jackson wish he'd had the opportunity to take out Keefe the night of the red eye flight after this new intelligence reached him.

If he had, Lisa would already hate him, maybe even be dead along with her father depending on how badly she reacted to her part in the plan. Casualties were an unavoidable part of war, and though Jackson had frequently repeated this to himself over his many years of wreaking necessary evil on the world, he could not convince himself that night that a dead Lisa was a good thing.

Cable news began repeating itself for the tenth time about Russians performing illegal military exercises off the coast of Turkey so Jackson changed the channel to C-Span, which was replaying a hearing of the Senate Armed Services Committee - perhaps the most boring but insightful of all that hotel television had to offer.

A Senior Senator from a Southern state was grilling a decorated General about rebels in Syria and the US position on various terrorist groups in the region. Certain familiar names stood out while others were new to Jackson, and he cataloged all of them in his memory for future use as he re-read the new intelligence brief on Keefe.

Intelligence was the most important part of his job, hence why he'd spent weeks tailing Lisa for the purpose of convincing her to complete one simple task. Everything from the Sea Breezes to her hermit-lifestyle to her relationship with her father would work against her. And now he had more details than he could have hoped for to color in the lines of Lisa Reisert.

His phone beeped when she texted him back.

 _See you then._

"You sure will, Leese," Jackson muttered under his breath as he returned his attention to the Keefe brief.

The Southern Senator was now aggressively pitching American intervention in Syria before Russia and Iran got more involved than they already were. It was a familiar argument and Jackson paused from his reading to listen to the usual fears about World War 3 and the destruction of Israel. Generally, Jackson liked this particular Senator, but he also found theatricality and hawkish politics in public forums unnecessary. There was a reason why espionage and secrecy were crucial to keeping the country safe. In these delicate cases, spies were better than a bunch of young Americans engaging in warfare in far away countries that had nothing to do with them.

His phone began to vibrate, and Jackson groaned at seeing it was Comms. Comms only called when there was bad news. How much more bad news could there be in one day?

"Hello," he answered coldly.

"Hey boss, got those docs you asked for," Comms drawled lazily, the clacking of a keyboard a steady stream in the background. "Emailing to you now. Do you need translations?"

Jackson reached for his laptop and waited for an email to pop up before responding, "No," and ended the call.

He opened the file attached to the email and all thoughts of Lisa and Keefe and the Russians immediately faded away as he was confronted with the image of a beautiful, dark-skinned woman wearing a Chanel suit and sky high heels, her thick black hair wound up in a sleek beehive and a huge pink diamond hung off her left ring finger. The picture was a paparazzi shot from an Italian gossip magazine, and with his limited Italian, Jackson could pick up that Iranian heiress Fatima al-Ahdal was due to be married to Alberto Prinzeguerra, a wealthy Italian socialite who was supposedly a descendant of the last King of Italy.

Jackson couldn't help but scoff; of course she would marry someone like that. He checked the date and saw the clipping was five years old.

At Jackson's request, Comms had helpfully delivered five years worth of international press cuttings featuring the name Fatima al-Ahdal - and luckily Comms knew better than to ask how she related to the Keefe case.

Feeling resentment coil within him, Jackson began the task of carefully reading through each of the clippings. Her elaborate wedding to Prinzeguerra covered exclusively in an Italian fashion magazine. A Swiss real estate publication covering the newly-weds' vacation home in Zurich featuring an eight figure price tag. A British stocks and bonds paper about their investment in a Saudi Arabian oil company. A German _Zeitun's_ coverage of a hefty donation to a disabled children's charity.

And most recently, her father's death, covered by all major news outlets in every language imaginable.

She wasn't a constant figure in the press, but every now and then she would pop up just enough for Jackson to feel she was up to something suspicious. She was certainly not _just_ the grieving heiress and socialite wife she'd been depicting herself to the media for the past few days. Of that much, Jackson was sure.

Loud vibrating from the bedside table pulled Jackson back to reality and out of his dark suspicions. He reminded himself once more that there was too much going on with Keefe for him to get involved with Fatima al-Ahdal or Fatima Prinzeguerra or whatever she was calling herself these days. No matter how his gut told him otherwise.

Jackson pulled the burner phone from the drawer, where it sat innocently vibrating next to the handgun. Both for emergencies only.

A text from one of the three numbers stored in the burner blinked with an urgency Jackson couldn't tell if he was imagining.

 _Tomorrow night. I'll find you. S._

* * *

 **A/N: Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

The Hardest of Hearts

5.

 _ **Yale University**_

 _Sometimes legal theory came so easily to Jackson that he arrogantly wondered if there was any point studying it at university at all. Perhaps he should try something that actually challenged him like physics - he enjoyed the math but what the hell was he going to do with that, become a Theoretical Physicist? No. The body that awarded him a scholarship to Yale did so because of his potential to study Law and though it pained him to admit it, changing majors in his Junior year would not make them happy._

 _Which brought him today to_ Ethics in the Age of Globalization and Multinational Corporations. _A legal pad and pen were laid out on the desk in front of him, and Jackson leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, observing his fellow students while waiting for the lecture to begin._

 _Eventually the older man who ran the department made his way to the front of the class, looking like he didn't have the patience to lecture a bunch of idiotic young people who were likely hungover or still drunk from the night before. Jackson particularly enjoyed this professor - crotchety and straight to the point with no time for bullshit, just like Jackson._

 _"All right, quiet down," the professor demanded lethargically and the class began to settle into their seats._

 _The double doors to the lecture hall burst open as a late student made a dramatic entrance, not bothering to sneak in covertly. Grumpy professor glared but Jackson found himself sitting up straighter - as did most of the young men in the room. Rather than an awkward mess of a student scared shitless of being called out in front of their peers, a beautiful girl glided in. Rather than apologizing for her tardiness she offered the professor an enigmatic smile as if to say, "I'm here! How lucky for you!", then swanned into the room as if she had nothing but time to spare._

 _Her hair was black as night, half of it tied up in intricate knots and braids on top of her head and half falling elegantly down her back. She wore an entirely inappropriate slinky dress that fell past her knees and sandals with leather braiding that wound up her calves. Jackson realized he was staring when she began to sway in his direction, towards the only remaining empty seat at his left. He coughed loudly and returned his gaze to the front of the room while the girl gracefully took her seat and directed her attention to the grumpy professor._

 _"Thank you," grumpy professor deadpanned, before getting on with the lecture._

 _Jackson tried to concentrate, but it was difficult with such vast amounts of upper thigh showing from the slit in her unusual gown. It irritated him as much as it demanded he pay her attention, which in turn irritated him further that she was distracting him from the lecture. What sort of a vain princess needed to draw such attention to herself, he thought, shooting her a dirty look which she intercepted with a saucy smirk._

 _Her almond-shaped eyes were large and fathomless, fringed with thick lashes she'd enhanced with a dramatic ring of black eyeliner that ended in a point at each corner of her eye. As someone who grew up poor, Jackson did not fail to notice the large sapphires dangling from each of her ears, nor did he miss the heavy gold rings on her fingers._

 _Throughout the lecture, he continued to catch her smirking at him and in turn she continued to catch him glaring at her until they were joined in a silent staring contest by the time the class had finished and the students started hopping to their feet, anxious to get out in the sunshine._

 _"Did you enjoy that?" The girl asked, twisting a piece of shiny black hair around her index finger and smiling. She was British and very posh, her accent rolling and lilting across each consonant. "I found it rather boring, personally. Ethics, who bothers with such things?"_

 _Jackson lifted an unimpressed eyebrow at her condescension but remained silent, simply drinking her in._

 _"You don't say much, do you?" she suggested, examining her nails carelessly._

 _"Not if I don't have anything to say," Jackson replied smoothly, cocking his head to the side so she knew he was examining her. Rich girl indulging in plebeian university courses to appease her parents more than likely._

 _She seemed to relish his tone, laughing deeply. "Well aren't you a curious thing."_

 _"You're British." Jackson said pointedly, not entirely sure why he was engaging with her. "New here?"_

 _"My father is Iranian and my mother is Swiss," she corrected. "But I went to boarding school in England. And yes, I am new here. How did you know?"_

 _"I've never seen you before," Jackson told her plainly. "I would have noticed you."_

 _To his great surprise she blushed at this, her confident demeanor wavering into something girlish for a just a moment when she interpreted his comment as a compliment. She held out her hand, the gold rings practically sliding off her fingers with their weight._

 _"Fatima al-Ahdal," she smirked and Jackson took her proffered hand, squeezing it lightly. "Lovely to meet you."_

 _"Jackson Rippner," he told her steadily._

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

Lisa considered the brand new tube of red lipstick with suspicion and uncertainty. According to a sticker on the bottom it was called _Femme Fatale_ , which she felt was overly sexy for her prudish sensibilities. Normally she stuck to tinted lip balm or subtle pinks depending on how much she needed to bring up her colour. But she had a date for the first time in a very long time and she found herself desiring Jackson's attention, which had led to her picking up red lipstick from the drug store on her lunch break.

And now, in the ladies toilets of the Lux she stared down at the bronze tube with her lips pursed as she tried to decide just what wearing red lipstick called _Femme Fatale_ for a date with Jackson actually _meant._

Cynthia stormed into the bathroom then, looking like she was about to burst into tears, likely due to an angry guest.

"Lisa," she hiccuped, her jaw clenching as she swallowed down a sob. "What are you still doing here?"

Restraining herself from comforting and babying Cynthia, Lisa offered a weak smile and held up the lipstick. "I have a date," she admitted. "He's meeting me outside."

Her tears suddenly forgotten, Cynthia's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in exaggerated shock. "I knew it!" She exclaimed, drawing closer to Lisa. "Oh my God Leese, you never go on dates! Who is he? Can I meet him? Is it the airport guy? Are you gonna sleep with him? Are you wearing that? What do you-"

"Okay, stop," Lisa raised both hands up to halt the barrage of questions. "Yes it's the airport guy. His name is Jackson and he's only in town until the end of the week so this is just..." she struggled for the correct words but could only come up with, "A one time thing."

Cynthia grinned slyly but Lisa ignored the innuendo in her countenance and turned back to the mirror to examine her reflection.

"Well, you look hot," Cynthia observed sagely. "I thought it was weird that you were wearing that skirt with those heels."

"What do you mean?" Lisa frowned, meeting Cynthia's gaze in the mirror. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing," Cynthia giggled secretively. "It looks good. Ooh, is that new lipstick? Did you buy it _special_ for your date?"

Lisa released a disgruntled sound. "You are making me really self conscious, Cynthia," she told her friend with as much disapproval as she could muster. In truth, Cynthia's praise was igniting something more akin to self-confidence than self-consciousness inside her. Surprising since she tended to prefer hiding to standing out.

Making up her mind, Lisa carefully applied the lipstick while Cynthia nattered away about how she couldn't believe Lisa was finally going out with a guy and how, secretly, she'd been wondering if Lisa was actually gay since she'd never even talked about men. Lisa tried to block her out, blotting her lipstick and returning the tube to her bag. She gave her hair a fluff and rearranged her bra strap so it was hidden beneath the lace sleeve of her camisole, then took a deep breath, unduly nervous but also pleasantly excited.

Cynthia followed her into the lobby and Lisa practically had to order her to stay inside the hotel instead of trailing after her to get a glimpse of the mysterious stranger from the red eye flight.

The sweltering Florida humidity hit Lisa as soon as she stepped outside, the concrete of the parking lot almost sticky in the heat.

A few car lengths away she spotted Jackson leaning against his rented black Mercedes, his hands shoved in the pockets of tailored grey trousers. The first few buttons of his white shirt were unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up his forearms to ward off the punishing heat. He raked a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it before catching Lisa's gaze and smirked.

Lisa was suddenly very aware of her heart thudding loudly in her chest, and she was unable to stop a grin of her own as she approached him.

"Hi," she greeted him, her nerves snapping electrically as Jackson's gaze swept from her feet to her head while he closed the distance between them.

"Hi Leese," he grinned lazily, pulling her closer by the elbow and dropping a kiss on her cheek. Lisa returned the gesture and when Jackson pulled back, his right cheek sported a smudge of _Femme Fatale_.

"Oh my," she chuckled awkwardly, her hand raising of it's own daring accord to wipe the stain away and showing him her fingers. "Sorry."

Lisa realized she was grinning like an idiot.

Jackson laughed easily and opened the passenger door, gesturing for her to climb inside.

It felt like a courteous gesture; something her mother would likely approve of, Lisa mused, sinking into the soft black leather seat. The interior of the Mercedes was elegant and sleek, lightly chilled compared to the humid air outside, and very different from the gray cloth seats and dodgy air conditioning of Lisa's practical Jetta. She noted it was a manual instead of an automatic, a choice that suggested Jackson might have a fondness for cars which Lisa would normally find cringe-worthy, but in this case it seemed sophisticated. Another layer to the coy mystery of Jackson Rippner.

"So, where are we going," Jackson asked smoothly as he started the engine and maneuvered the clutch and the gear shift.

Lisa directed him to a restaurant in Little Havana that she once again found via Google due to her lack of an actual social life and dining recommendations.

Jackson asked her about her day as he spurred the car forward, maneuvering the clutch and gear shift with practiced movements.

"Oh, you know," Lisa sighed, thinking back to her day and biting her lip when she recalled a particularly scandalous event. "There was an incident with a couple in the pool..." she trailed of suggestively and Jackson released a sputtering laugh.

"Wow, does that happen often?"

"Not usually in the middle of the day when there's people around," she chuckled then sighed contentedly and turned to face Jackson, cocking her head to the side curiously. "How was your day? Get much consulting done?"

"Ahh," Jackson groaned, and shot her an oddly secretive look. "It was a very long day. I'm ready for this case to be over."

Lisa felt a jolt of sadness as she said, "Only a few more days, right? Where are you off to then?"

Jackson mirrored her subdued expression as he gazed out at the road ahead of them. "I'll be in DC next," he said after a beat of silence. Then glanced at Lisa again, adding dryly, "I'm worried I'm developing a conscious over this merger."

Lisa allowed a sharp bark of laughter. "Well that's not so bad, is it?"

He simply shrugged.

They parked on a side street in Little Havana, just around a corner from the Cuban street food place Lisa had picked out. Chatting about nothing, Jackson intercepted Lisa on the passenger side of the car as he locked the Mercedes with a key fob.

She led them to a small restaurant called _Un Pedacito de Cielo,_ or A Little Piece of Heaven. It was a pokey little place decorated with bright colours and statues of slightly macabre _Calacas_ while Cuban jazz - an interesting blend of sounds - played softly in the background. Waiters wearing more formal attire than one would expect of the establishment rushed around with steaming plates of food, giving the place a pleasantly frantic sensibility.

A hostess in a low cut black dress immediately seated them and Lisa was unexpectedly pleased when Jackson lightly took her hand as they followed the hostess to a small table near the back.

They settled on Caipirinhas, clinking glasses when their drinks arrived and once more settling into easy conversation though Lisa found her skin growing hot every time their knees accidentally knocked together under the small table. The conversation may have been easy, but the tension between the pair of them was heavy with something unspoken and needy. Every time they made eye contact Lisa felt her pulse accelerate and she could only hope she wasn't been excessively obvious.

It was completely bizarre to her that in the span of a week she'd gone from actively avoiding the opposite sex to deeply enjoying every wicked look Jackson sent her way.

And yet she didn't dwell on it; she simply delighted in the shivers coursing through her as Jackson's fingers brushed over hers while her ankle scandalously anchored itself to his beneath the table.

A few Caipirinhas later and they were feasting upon street food and discussing what occupations Lisa might enjoy more than one that entailed people copulating in the swimming pool.

"Let's see," Jackson mused thoughtfully, pushing his plate aside when he'd finished. "Reading people, slightly type A tendencies, precise attention to detail and you can manipulate just about anyone into doing whatever you want."

Lisa scoffed at that. "I do not manipulate people," she retorted. "I simply... understand what people think they want and show them how to get it in a way that perhaps benefits the hotel or makes my life easier." She couldn't stop from biting her lip impishly.

"Sales?" Jackson suggested, sipping his freshly delivered Caipirinha.

"Uh, boring," Lisa sighed.

"Public relations?"

Lisa wrinkled her nose. "The media are awful, I don't think I'd fit in."

Jackson raised a suggestive eyebrow while under the table his leg slid against Lisa's so their knees were touching.

"Spy?" He offered coyly.

"Oh, a spy, sure," Lisa laughed incredulously. "That's likely."

"Why not?" Jackson grinned. "Intelligence is all about getting people to believe what you want so you can extract their secrets."

"I'm not sneaky enough," Lisa admitted with a shrug, then sent Jackson a peculiar look. "How do you know so much about spies, anyway?"

"Well if I told you, I'd have to kill you," he teased, his pale eyes dancing.

Lisa laughed easily. "I think spy is off the table. I'd settle for a long vacation for now."

Jackson cocked an eyebrow curiously. "When was the last time you had a holiday?"

"Ooh," Lisa cringed, trying to remember the last time she'd been away from Miami. "Does Dallas count?"

"For you grandmother's funeral? No," Jackson chuckled, amused.

"How about... a hotel conference in New York?"

He shot her a dubious look.

"I suppose," Lisa pushed her plate away and reached for her nearly empty drink. She was feeling a bit tipsy as she scanned her memories. Had it really been that long?

"After my parents divorce my mom and dad weren't in very good ways. My brother and I thought they could use some time off to, you know, distract them. My brother took my dad on a road trip to Vegas and my mom and I went to Italy for a couple weeks."

Jackson looked impressed. "Italy? God, you're a good daughter aren't you."

Lisa shrugged bashfully. "She'd never been so I took her to Venice, Rome, Florence, Tuscany... it was really nice."

"I love Tuscany," Jackson admitted in an odd voice, his gaze taking on a slightly far away look as he focused his attention on his drink. He cleared his throat abruptly and plastered a sly smirk on his face to cover for the momentary lapse. "But I prefer Spain."

"You're so well traveled," Lisa said, with both respect and jealousy. "But when was your last _holiday_."

Jackson pursed his lips and ran a hand over his jaw thoughtfully. "I had work in Indonesia last year, so I took a couple weeks off after and headed to Bali."

"Bali?" Lisa laughed, impressed and once again jealous. " _Wow_. That must have been amazing."

"It's pretty great," Jackson conceded somewhat smugly before he quirked his eyebrows at her and locked his ankle around hers so their legs were fully intertwined. "Maybe I'll take you sometime."

Lisa forced a laugh, feeling warm and flushed, but she refused to blush like a teenager, instead hiding her face in her drink (how many had she had so far?). "Sure thing, let's go to Bali," she rolled her eyes and Jackson shrugged evasively.

They stayed and chatted for a long time after they'd finished their meal, sipping the heady concoctions of lime, sugar and cachaça. Lisa could tell she was well on the way to being drunk but she couldn't bring herself to bring an end to their evening. She wondered if it was a case of fearfulness that once they left the restaurant, Jackson might expect her to invite him home, an idea that sent a dark thrill through her, though reasonably she knew it was a terrible idea. He was leaving in a few days and she wasn't the sort of person to have a one night stand - although perhaps she could make an exception.

 _No,_ she told herself forcefully. _Have some dignity._

When the restaurant closed Jackson suggested they find a bar and have another drink, just _one_ more drink, which Lisa would normally never agree to, but she was feeling especially adventurous that night and enthusiastically consented.

With their hands linked, Jackson led her to a somewhat charming dive bar where the television over the bar was blasting coverage of a flamboyant parade, probably half a world away, Lisa thought as the bartender placed two beers before them. The heat and sounds of foreign festivities blended with the sweet alcohol on her tongue made Lisa feel more intoxicated than she likely really was, and it was not helped by the way Jackson had taken her hand in his and deliberately pressed his thumb to the inside of her palm, drawing small circles there. Lisa inched her stool closer to his so their knees were pressed together - she was dangerously aware of Jackson's eyes slipping down to where her skirt (a respectable length) had hitched up on her thighs.

Two beers later and Jackson sighed reluctantly. "I think we're gonna have to call it a night. I won't be able to drive if I have another."

Disappointment coursed through Lisa as he paid the bar tab. "It is getting late," she agreed forlornly, and slipped off the stool somewhat unsteadily.

Jackson smirked and wrapped an arm around her shoulders so she wouldn't trip over her higher-than-usual heels. "Let's get you a cab."

Relief mixed with regret settled in Lisa's stomach at the suggestion. There would be no one-time-only tryst in Jackson's hotel room, which was precisely the correct thing to do... but her elevated pulse and the thick fog of lust between them certainly made it difficult to happily accept.

Lisa wound her arm around Jackson's waist, tempted to slide her hand under his jacket but ultimately not brave enough to be so forward despite an evening of being uncharacteristically bold with him.

Chuckling to herself, Lisa glanced up at Jackson, thoroughly enjoying the way he held her close to his side as he led her out into the heavy Miami heat.

"I always drink too much when I'm with you," she complained with a grin.

"Oh, sure," Jackson laughed, craning his neck to look down at her with what could only be described as _affection_ in his lazy smirk.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Lisa swiveled out from beneath his arm to look up into his otherworldly blue eyes.

"I'm fine," he told her, still smirking though his gaze grew slightly unfocused as they stared at one another. "I'm bigger than you," he added smugly.

Lisa scoffed, but couldn't bring herself to look away, she felt absorbed by the ethereal intensity of his gaze.

The arm that had been slung around her shoulders suddenly slipped down to wrap around her waist, squeezing lightly.

"I don't know," Lisa said softly, trying to keep her wits about her though she could feel his hand spread across her lower back, gently tugging her towards him. "You look pretty skinny," she added, attempting levity.

Jackson did not seem interested in levity, dipping his chin so his lips were almost touching hers. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, directing her mouth to his and Lisa's eyes slid shut, her heart beating wildly with anticipation.

Suddenly his lips were pressing against hers, kissing her gently, their mouths sliding against each other for a few delicate seconds until Jackson pulled back to stare down at Lisa, swallowing thickly so his adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat.

"I never do this," Lisa breathed. Her skin felt hot and damp.

"Does that make me an exception?" he whispered, his voice huskier than usual, his eyes smoldering down at her with a glaze of what could have been wonder.

Lisa felt her stomach flip over as passion she was not accustomed to surged through her, and she nodded slowly, indicating that he _was_ the exception as her fingers trailed down the buttons of his shirt until her palms came to rest on his chest.

Jackson gaze dropped to Lisa's lips once more, and she felt as though a magnet was pulling her back in as she rose up on her toes to press her mouth to his again. Her teeth sank teasingly into his bottom lip which seemed to incite an urgency in Jackson she had not expected as he pulled her tighter against him. The hand cupping her cheek slid down her neck, over her collarbone, her arm, then around her trim waist, pulling her even closer.

Forgetting that she was on a busy street, Lisa let her arms loop around Jackson's neck, tugging him closer still so they were pressed flush against one another.

His lips were more forceful now, and Lisa responded eagerly, opening her mouth to him so his tongue could slide languidly with hers. It was so unabashedly erotic that Lisa could feel real warmth growing between her legs and she sighed softly into Jackson's mouth, their teeth knocking together as the kiss became messy and desperate.

Lost in each other, Lisa and Jackson were startled out of their embrace when a stranger aggressively bumped into Jackson's shoulder.

"Sorry, guy," the stranger said dryly, not sounding sorry at all as he carried on down the street.

Dazed and panting, Lisa looked briefly over her shoulder to see the man walking away. She could see he wore a Hawaiian print shirt and a Panama hat; nothing but a rude tourist destroying the wonderfully heated moment that had transpired.

Lisa turned back to Jackson, still feeling drunk on lust and wanting nothing more than to forget the interruption; but the look on his face was like a bucket of cold water splashing her right in the face.

Angry might have been the word, perhaps bitter. Jackson was clearly fighting back a scowl as he watched the man continue on his way, like an animal staring down its prey. His arms went slack around her and the moment was fully broken, leaving Lisa confused and startled but oddly clear headed as she diverted her gaze to the ground, not wanting to see the dangerous emotions crossing Jackson's face.

"Let's get you a cab," he said, gritting his teeth and not looking Lisa in the eye.

She agreed quietly, feeling embarrassed by her lack of self control and wondering what the _hell_ was wrong with him. She decided she would not care, even though curiosity suddenly began fighting insecurity. There was clearly something wrong; it had to be more than bad temper taking over because some tourist had bumped into him. That didn't seem like the Jackson she had gotten to know. He certainly wasn't what she would call sweet or even kind; he was intriguing and had a kind of old fashioned graceful courtesy that appealed to Lisa more than a _nice boy_ would have.

But perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps intriguing was hiding danger.

Jackson flagged down a cab while Lisa watched in numb silence, her mind running wild. He opened the door for her and Lisa nearly slid inside without saying goodbye when he seemed to snap out of his trance and was suddenly taking one of her hands between both of his, lifting her knuckles to his lips while Lisa watched, both entranced and bewildered.

"Goodnight Leese," he said softly, and without saying anything in return, Lisa slipped inside the cab and he the shut the door behind her.

Safely in the cab, she let out a long breath and covered her eyes with both of her hands as the cab pulled away from the curb. Her thoughts tripped over the last ten minutes between leaving the bar to the sudden change in personality to their strange parting. Overwhelmed would be a good word for it, confused and slightly shocked by how fast Jackson had gone from passion to... danger might be another.

The cab came to a stop at a red light only seconds into their journey, and Lisa couldn't stop herself from twisting in her seat to peer out the back window, searching for Jackson's dark hair and lanky form on the street.

What she saw made her gasp softly in surprise.

Right where she had left him, Jackson was now speaking to the man in the Hawaiian shirt and Panama hat. She couldn't make out their expressions but it appeared to be a tense conversation before Jackson followed the stranger into the same dive bar they had just come from.

Perhaps it was her elevated state, but Lisa felt anger course through her. Who on earth was this man and why had he extracted such a reaction from Jackson? Could they just be having a friendly drink to clear the air? No, Lisa knew immediately that was not the case. Jackson had followed that stranger into the bar looking sulky, like he was being forced against his will.

Before Lisa could think twice, she tossed a ten dollar bill to the cabbie and quickly thanked him for the short journey, before leaping out of the car and stalking back up the street towards the dive bar. Her lips were pursed and her mind rushing through possibilities of what she had just witnessed. Perhaps it wasn't the most obvious deception, but Lisa couldn't avoid the feeling that _something_ was up, especially combined with the other odd habits she'd noticed about Jackson.

She wished she could have done more to conceal herself, but peaking around the entrance into the bar was about all she was capable of. Luckily, Jackson and the stranger were sat at the bar with their backs to her so she could get away with being relatively obvious in her impromptu stake out.

They each had a beer and the stranger was talking while Jackson stared straight ahead, his spine rigid and his ankles crossed while he clutched at a bottle of Budweiser. Then the stranger discretely pushed something down the bar, and Jackson accepted the small object - maybe a USB stick? - with a practiced kind of subtly, slipping it into his trouser pocket.

Feeling unnerved and suspicious, Lisa rotated away from the entrance to the bar, leaning her back against the wall outside while she thought through what she had witnessed. Whatever it was, she was certain she didn't want to be involved in it.

* * *

Jackson watched the cab pull away from the curb, taking Lisa back to her lonely apartment after an abrupt end to something he didn't think he could even describe. Her taste lingered on his tongue, and when the taxi stopped at a red light not far away he had to fight the urge to chase it down and go home with her to pretend there was no lethal drama unfolding around him.

"Looks like you two are getting along."

Exhaling loudly through his teeth, Jackson willed his temper to stay in check as he turned to address the man inconspicuously dressed as a tourist in a Hawaiian shirt and a Panama hat: Agent Sykes. Jackson's mood deflated further and he forced a bitter smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," Sykes offered blandly, not sounding the least bit apologetic. He gestured to the dive bar Jackson and Lisa had come from. "Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

Opting for silence, Jackson followed the agent back into the bar where they appropriated two stools and Sykes waved down the bartender.

Jackson waited for Sykes to speak first, mutely accepting a bottle of Budweiser as Sykes paid and settled onto his stool with a self-satisfied sigh.

"First things first," he said in his typically condescending tone. "This is for you." He slid a beer mat towards Jackson, who glanced down briefly to see a USB stick hidden beneath; he pocketed it without a word.

"Second," Sykes continued, turning his wooden gaze towards Jackson, peering hawkishly at him. "We're concerned about how much time you're spending with your Subject face-to-face. And woo-boy, you two sure did have some fun tonight. That kiss was really something." He added dryly.

"You're following me," Jackson accused, staring at the liquor on the shelf across from him rather than acknowledging Sykes, who was still watching carefully for a reaction that would give Jackson away.

"No more than usual," Sykes replied mildly, cocking his head to the side. "I assume you have something up your sleeve and you're not just taking Lisa Reisert on a date for fun."

Jackson considered his response carefully, masking his silence with a large gulp of his beer. "Always," he said at last, sure to inject the word with as much arrogance and condescension as he was capable of.

"Mmm Hmm," Sykes countered tonelessly. "Because we'd be concerned if you were, I don't know, fucking the Subject you chose to hinge the entirety of Plan A on."

Jackson had to fight against scowling or snapping at Sykes, instead forcing a snort of amusement. He wasn't a trained spy like Sykes, which had it's benefits and draw backs when it came to manipulating the infuriating agent. One such drawback was not being able to read his handler with the absolute certainty he could with people. That made manipulating Sykes a more convoluted task, which Jackson delicately avoided unless completely necessary - as it was now.

"That would be concerning," Jackson agreed, tacking on a self-satisfied smirk though inside he was fuming.

It seemed to appease Sykes, because he continued: "Where did this Austrian intelligence come from?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "You already know, so why are you asking."

"Ah, cause I know it pisses you off when I make you explain yourself," Sykes admitted indulgently. "Makes me feel like I've got you under my boot."

"How professional of you," Jackson snapped in irritation. "He warned me about Fatima al-Ahad."

"Fadid al-Ahad's daughter and only child. Interesting." Sykes looked suitably impressed by this. "That explains why you had Comms deliver five years' worth of press clippings on that name."

Jackson ignored the taunt that they were tracking his emails. "She's Fatima Prinzeguerra now. Married into Italian high society and paints herself as a socialite and philanthropist."

"From all appearances that's exactly what she is," Sykes interrupted, his voice suddenly serious and suspicious. "What information did your contact give you that has you so worried? Is she picking up her father's dealings with Hezbollah?"

After a lengthy pause Jackson finally said, "That she's looking for me."

Sykes snorted, "So, your spoiled ex-girlfriend is 'looking for you.'" He added air quotes with his fingers. "A week after her father dies and you think that means she's up to no good to the point that it should concern the CIA? I know you're an arrogant son-of-a-bitch but I gotta say, I didn't peg you for the paranoid type."

Jackson's jaw worked as he swallowed thickly, wanting to stand and leave. Sykes always wound him up. Like he wanted to remind Jackson that while the long leash he had him on gave him considerable room to maneuver, it was still a leash all the same.

Instead, Jackson lowered his voice. "Do you trust my judgement?"

"Generally," Sykes replied evasively.

"Then you should know," he turned purposefully towards the other man to meet his gaze for the first time that night. "That if I wasn't in the middle of managing your fucking Keefe disaster, I would be on a flight to Rome dealing with this _myself._ "

Sykes held Jackson's gaze for a long second, then nodded and returned his attention to the beer in front of him. "We'll look into it," he finally conceded. "See if you can get anything else out of your contact in Vienna and text me."

Jackson got to his feet and left the bar without another word. He was seething, as he always was coming away from a meeting with Sykes.

But once outside the bar in Little Havana once more, when the humid Miami air hit him and the sounds of the street fair reached his ears Jackson was immediately transported back to kissing Lisa. How she was sweet and responsive to his touch, tentatively accepting him before Sykes had bumped into them like the moment-ruining bastard he was. He even thought he could smell her perfume lingering in the air.

Feeling drained, Jackson returned to his hotel room alone and once more found his way to the mini bar.

* * *

 **A/N: Ooh the plot thickens! Review!**

 **Also, I'll note that this may be set in the present day but not, ya know, within the insane political landscape we're currently witnessing in 2017.**


	6. Chapter 6

The Hardest of Hearts

6.

 _ **Vienna**_

 _ **Ten Years Ago.**_

 _Austria was like nothing Jackson had ever experienced before. Hell, he'd never even left the continental United States until Fatima convinced him to abscond to Vienna just a week before their graduation ceremony. She hadn't even finished her degree but she didn't especially need one - she had more money than God and was bored with America. Jackson was the only American she was interested in, she told him in that alluring, exotic purr of hers that spurred him to agree to run off with her._

 _They bought one way tickets - first class, of course - and Fatima took great pleasure observing how mystified Jackson was when the air hostess presented him with complimentary champagne._

 _"I do so love champagne," Fatima smirked, clinking her glass with Jackson's._

 _They got roaring drunk and Jackson had to bargain with her to get out of joining the mile high club._

 _She was glamorous and extraordinary. Austria was magical in its foreign beauty. The limousine that picked them up at the airport and drove them to the city center was unnecessarily lavish._

 _Most fantastical of all, Fatima's enormous house in the_ _Hietzing district of Vienna. Located a few blocks from the Imperial Palace (which Fatima explained was constructed in an attempt to rival the grandiosity of Versailles) her family's home itself looked like a palace. Vast and decadent with more rooms and staff than a family of two could ever possibly need._

 _She had promptly dragged Jackson to her bedroom - an obscene and gilded room about as big as the apartment Jackson had grown up in - where she intermediately tore his clothes off like the insatiable siren he knew her to be._

 _Then came the family introductions._

 _Fatima didn't bother to hide the fact that she'd just had her way with Jackson, leaving her make up smeared and her clothes in disarray. Jackson had smartened up as much as possible ahead of the introductions - trousers that didn't fit quite right since he usually preferred jeans, and a crisp white shirt, his hair combed back in the endless battle to tame it._

 _He forced himself to hide the wonderment the house brought out in him - from the baroque painted ceilings to the maids scurrying about with their heads bowed. He stuffed his wonder down deep inside and forced the impassive but vaguely interested countenance he'd developed in military school as response to his superiors' demands for his pride._

 _As Fatima led Jackson through a maze of hallways, a loud gong suddenly sounded several times and she groaned in annoyance._

 _"Adhan," she explained, rolling her eyes and when Jackson quirked a curious eyebrow she elaborated. "Prayers. Father and Uncle make me do it five times a day when I'm home. As if Muhammad gives a fuck if I'm pointing towards Mecca saying_ Allah Akbar _along with the rest of these fools_."

 _Jackson's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I didn't know you practiced Islam."_

 _She was always coming out with things he would never have guessed about her. More often than not they were exotic or foreign to him, unveiling another part of her twisted soul that he found so enthralling._

 _"Oh, God no!" She cried, leading Jackson by the arm down another extravagant corridor. "I love living far too much to give in to that nonsense."_

 _Jackson stopped walking, drawing her back to him so he could meet her gaze. "Do you believe in God?" He asked, deeply interested in what her response would be._

 _Fatima sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulder. "Perhaps," she conceded at last. "My people hold it so dearly. But more than anything I believe in myself so I don't see why God should matter."_

 _Losing interest in the conversation, she flipped her black hair over her shoulder and continued to stride away with Jackson carefully following her. They came to a new room - large and gilded like all the others - to find two elderly gentleman praying together on thick Persian rugs. One had chocolate brown skin and wore round spectacles and what Jackson supposed were some sort of traditional robes. The other man was podgy and bald, wearing a three piece suit which made it difficult for him to bend at the knees while he prayed._

 _Holding her finger to her lips, Fatima hesitated outside the door, waiting a few moments after they'd finished praying before she burst into the room._

 _"Oh dear, have I missed Adhan?" She gasped in German, and then added in English. "How absolutely dreadful."_

 _The two men rose from their prayer positions and exchanged a meaningful look which Fatima ignored, turning to Jackson._

 _"Father speaks English but Uncle's English is horrid. Shall we all speak German?" She suggested airily, swanning towards her family. "I'd rather go deaf but I suppose if we must."_

 _"Fatima," the suited man frowned deeply. "Don't be rude to your Uncle Nassif."_

 _"What?" she scoffed dramatically. "His English is dreadful!" She turned to her Uncle, who was watching the scene with mild interest. "Apologies, Uncle," she said in German, rolling her eyes as she spun around to drag Jackson into the room, speaking in rapid German and leaving Jackson relieved that he'd studied the language through high school and college._

 _"Jackson, this is my father Fadid al-Ahad and my uncle Nassif Krausse," she said, gesturing to the men. "Jackson is ever so clever - he speaks German and Spanish as well as his native English."_

 _"How very accomplished," Uncle Nassif said with a gentle smile._

 _"He also studied law," Fatima continued imperiously. "But I convinced him to abandon that ghastly ceremony so I could show him Vienna instead."_

 _Her father took a deep, steadying breath, seeming to find his daughter an annoyance. "Shall we have tea before dinner?" He suggested._

 _"Oh yes, let's!" Fatima clapped her hands together._

 _Fatima spoke over Jackson throughout the tea, seemingly having more thoughts coursing through her head than she could express at a time._ _Her father scolded her every now and then while her Uncle Nassif hid an amused smile at their bickering. However, Jackson did not want to be accused of shyness or rudeness by not engaging and by the time they had dressed for dinner (a novel concept to him) and were sat around a grand table covered in expensive china, he'd managed to start a conversation with Uncle Nassif._

 _"Fatima tells me you're not her biological uncle?" He asked, cutting a thin slice of Fois Gras - another foreign concept to him._

 _"Indeed," Nassif smiled - he had a very kind face. "I was a close friend of Fatima's late mother from when we were both at medical school here in Vienna. We would spend most of our free time with her family in Zurich as my family had all tragically passed before I reached twenty-one. She was like a sister to me, and when she passed, Fadid and I became as close as brothers."_

 _Jackson pursed his lips, nodding. He only had a useless father slowly drinking himself to death, which was close enough to being completely alone, but even still Jackson could never see himself being adopted into a family in the way Nassif had just described._

 _"Are you from Zurich as well?" Jackson asked, finding this elderly gentleman the most interesting thing he'd come across yet - first class seats to Europe, the ridiculous palatial house, the foreign concepts of "tea" and "dressing for dinner" - even Fatima herself in the context of all this luxury._

 _"I was born in Syria but my parents emigrated to Austria when I was still a child," Nassif explained._

 _"And Fatima's mother was Swiss," Jackson deduced. "Hence why you all speak German."_

 _"Indeed," Nassif bobbed his head. "It is most kind of you to speak my native tongue here. Fatima is correct, my English is rather dreadful though in my old age I am working on it. Better late than never," he said, giving a little chuckle._

 _Suddenly Fatima flew into a rage, speaking in a language Jackson had never heard her use before as she screamed and ranted at her father. Fadid slammed his fist on the table once, shouting a fierce command Jackson couldn't understand, which prompted Fatima to throw her wine glass and then her plate against a nearby wall before she stormed out of the room, tossing a hateful comment over her shoulder as she went._

 _Fadid pinched the bridge of his nose, looking aggrieved as Jackson got to his feet and offered to go after her._

 _He found her in the hallway outside, pacing back and forth while she held a mobile phone to her ear. When whomever she was calling apparently didn't answer she shrieked and threw the phone to the floor, stomping on it with her stiletto._

 _"What the fuck is going on?" Jackson crossed his arms and glared, not impressed with the childish display. Normally when she got like this he would just walk out and ignore her, not having the patience to deal with a grown woman acting like a spoiled brat. She would always track him down once she'd calmed herself, and usually there would be some fellatio by way of an apology._

 _Unfortunately in this instance, with her family in the other room, in a foreign country and with no money to his name, Jackson couldn't very well wander the streets of Vienna waiting for Fatima to sort herself out._

 _"Fatima," he said sharply._

 _"Father is awful," she spat bitterly, still pacing and tossing her hair imperiously. "He says I am spoiled and materialistic and don't care about politics or religion. Just clothes and sex. What a bloody hypocrite!"_

 _Jackson crossed his arms and fixed her a withering look. "Fatima, you are spoiled and materialistic, and you definitely don't care about politics or religion."_

 _"Why should I care!" She exploded, whirling to face him. "Do you know what all his caring does? Hmm? Do you? He spends all of our money on those... those savages!"_

 _"Savages?" Jackson repeated incredulously, cocking an eyebrow. "Is that you being racist or something?"_

 _"Oh for God's sake," she huffed and flung a dramatic finger towards the dining room. "They're the racists! They have their little plots and coups and think they're in control of the world. It's pointless! They despise Americans and yet they ask me to bring you here - what do you think that means, hmm? Hmm?"_

 _Jackson was taken aback at that revelation but tried to hide his surprise. For one thing the two elderly men were the last sort of people he would have pegged as anti-Western or racist, not when Nassif was such a sweet old man and Fadid looked so at home his Western three piece suit._

 _Then there was the part about an ulterior motive to get Jackson to Vienna. It piqued his curiosity but he decided to table it for the time being._

 _"Look," he strolled over to Fatima and took her by the shoulders. "You're not wrong. I mean look at this place." He gestured to the grandiose room around them. "No one needs this much... ridiculous shit."_

 _Fatima cracked a smile and seemed to take a calming breath. "They'll have gone to the parlor for cigars. You should join them. I'm going to try calling Sassy again."_

 _Jackson nodded, wondering what he was in for, and turned back to the dining room after pressing a kiss to Fatima's plump lips._

 _He found Uncle Nassif and Fadid smoking cigars in a parlor room off the side of the dining room. Like the rest of the house, it too was gilded, lavish and obscene. Jackson decided he would need to get a look at Versailles sometime to see how it compared._

 _The pair greeted him like an old friend, welcoming him and patting his back and lighting him a cigar as they chortled over how silly Fatima could be._

 _"She only speaks Farsi when she's especially angry with me," Fadid chuckled indulgently. "I don't know where she got this impertinent streak, her mother was gentle as a lamb."_

 _Jackson thought that perhaps she'd turned out like this because she had been given everything she'd ever wanted and more her entire life, but decided to keep his opinions to himself. In many ways he absolutely hated her, despised her entitled selfishness, but even that quality itself seemed to fold into his intense feelings for her. Everything was intense and passionate and shocking with her. Even the horrible parts._

 _"What was your mother's maiden name, Jackson?" Fadid asked eventually, puffing away on his cigar._

 _"Goldman," Jackson replied smoothly, doing his best not to cough as the unfamiliar smoke ragged around his lungs._

 _"Oh dear," Nassif pulled a face. "She wasn't a Jewess, was she?"_

 _Jackson had to utilize all the will power he possessed to keep shock from showing on his face, instead focusing on exhaled a large plume of smoke. So. There was that racist streak Fatima had pointed to. He couldn't understand antisemitism for the life of him, and like most Americans educated in the public school system, he associated it with the Holocaust and Nazism. Were these old men Nazis?_

 _"Nope," he said eventually, keeping his tone bored and unaffected. "Protestant I think. She died when I was a kid."_

 _"I'm so sorry," Nassif sad compassionately, covering Jackson's hand with his own._

 _"Such awful business in Israel," Fadid mused, munching on his cigar. "It's criminal what those Zionists have done to Palestine."_

 _Having had some interest in going into international relations at one point, Jackson had an idea what they were suggesting. But once again, he had a hard time associating these harmless old men with racist Nazis who seemed to believe Israel was currently in the wrong hands. What had Fatima meant about their giving money to savages? Could she possibly mean terrorists?_

 _"And how do you feel about the situation on the left-bank, Jackson?" Fadid pressed._

 _Jackson paused, his pulse quickening as he considered a diplomatic response. "Politics don't interest me," he lied. "But from what I see, politics are the avenue to power. And with power, you can make the world how you want it."_

 _Nassif clapped his hands in delight. "A true mercenary," he laughed._

 _"Indeed," Fadid agreed thoughtfully, watching Jackson hawkish. "And, if you were to be given an opportunity to choose power over morality?"_

 _"Morality is the basis of socialism," Jackson took a drag from the cigar, sensing he was not just being tested as a daughter's boyfriend, but something else entirely. "I'm a capitalist."_

 _"And if you were to be asked to use your American passport to do me a favour," Fadid continued, steepling his fingers. "Would that be something you would be interested in?"_

 _Jackson swallowed heavily, his thoughts racing. "That depends on what's in it for me."_

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

The maid had tidied up his room but Jackson was still depressed to have to return to the dreaded space where he'd been trapped for months and more recently, wound tight with stress over both Lisa and his past.

He pulled out the USB stick Sykes had supplied him with, briefly wondering if it was a new way to track and spy on him, but Jackson decided he was too drained to care and plugged it into his laptop, disregarding any nefarious plot the CIA might have against him. They would do whatever they wanted anyway. As long as Keefe was dead in four days time it wouldn't matter what they had on him - he'd be five million Euros richer and have Sykes off his back for a while.

The laptop registered the USB stick and began uploading what Jackson recognized as encryption software that would allow him to communicate covertly via video call on the laptop.

"Nice one, Sykes," he muttered under his breath, leaving the computer to do its thing while he kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his suit.

Flashes of the heated kiss with Lisa assaulted him as he slunk into bed and turned off the lights. Kissing her had been one of those mistakes he found it impossible to regret even though it had been a _huge_ mistake. The way she'd been looking at him, like she was really feeling something for him, it damn near drove him crazy - he hadn't had a choice. It was kiss her or nothing else in that moment when the air was so thick with tension between them. Her palms pressing into his chest, the smell of her perfume permeating his senses, and best of all the unrestrained desire in her eyes. Desire for him.

Jackson punched a pillow and tried to forget, willing sleep to come. Instead the memory of Lisa's lips continued to demand his attention. How she'd been wearing red lipstick that was so very unlike her when he picked her up. Scarlet and sexy - the complete opposite of the hermit workaholic he knew her to be. Something had changed within her, and Jackson had a feeling she was drawn to him as strongly as he was to her.

And that just made it all worse because he still had to destroy her world - to force her to do something awful without even explaining why Keefe needed to die. Before, when he didn't know her, it would have been a breeze getting her to do her part. Other pieces of the plan were far more complicated. But now, feeling uncharacteristically sentimental and protective of her, he would have to go to extra lengths to make sure he could keep it together and get the job done.

Maybe he should pass the job on to someone else, he brooded.

No, that was unacceptable. He had a perfect track record and wasn't about to break it.

Not for the first time, Jackson wondered how he had gotten to where he was in life. It was an easy line to follow really, if one looked at events that had transpired throughout his life. Decisions he'd made and decisions that had been made for him. It all led to wealth and power and loneliness, which normally didn't bother him - in fact he happily embraced that life. But for some damn reason, Lisa made it bother him.

There was a reason Jackson didn't date or have friends. Sentiment and emotions got in the way. They were the dirt in the lens that fucked up results. Unacceptable.

But Lisa - Lisa he couldn't ignore.

And that could very well could get him killed.

Jackson's mind began to wander, and for the first time in a long time he found himself replaying his first meeting with Nassif Krausse and Fadid al-Ahad in Vienna. He wondered how different life would be had he never met Fatima, or had not followed her to Vienna, or had not agreed to take part in her father's dangerous plot. Had he passed on helping Fadid fund Hamas by using Jackson to negotiate proceedings and cart suitcases of cash back and forth between Vienna and Israel.

That had been when learning Arabic became necessary to communicate with Fadid's contacts in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. For a year he traveled between Austria and Israel, passing plans and secrets and, most importantly, hundreds of thousands of Euros concealed in innocent Louis Vuitton suitcases that customs officials would not bother to check because of his American passport and boyish good looks.

In Vienna he lived in the lap of luxury with Fatima, taking holidays to Mediterranean islands and attending lavish balls and box seats at the Opera. A life Jackson could never have imagined for himself and did not particularly want either. In Israel he worked with dubious characters who respected his ruthless efficiency and the ease with which he'd turned his back on Western loyalties. This was also a life Jackson could never have imagined but one he felt more comfortable in, and the two together were a heady cocktail.

 _Terrorist,_ a voice echoed through his head, making him cringe and roll onto his side in an attempt to force sleep instead of brooding on his past transgressions.

Eventually sleep came, and Jackson dreamed of the Opera in Vienna. Fatima would always talk through though them, the sublime crescendos apparently having no affect on her at all. But when Fatima turned her head towards him in the dream, instead of her glossy black hair Jackson saw auburn curls, and Lisa appeared to him wearing a strapless gown and a diamond tiara. A tear dripped down her cheek but she was smiling wistfully.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered, her eyelids fluttering shut as she took in the music.

Jackson leaned forward in his seat and slid a hand behind Lisa's neck, pulling her in for a kiss. And it was as sweet as anything he could remember.

* * *

When Lisa's alarm went off the next morning she was already awake, staring at the wall and unwilling to get out of bed while she brooded over how idiotic she'd been letting herself get carried away with Jackson. A complete stranger she knew nothing about, with whom she'd imagined she shared some special connection like a love sick girl reading too many fairy tales.

Fairy tales didn't exist, and Lisa had ignored her own instincts that there was something dubious about Jackson Rippner even though she couldn't quite put her finger on yet. She didn't know what it was _exactly_ , but that exchange between Jackson and a man he'd pretended not to know until Lisa was safely out of the way was enough to snap her out of her daydream.

Lisa moved on from brooding over her stupidity to ticking through various ideas of what Jackson could be hiding. They all seemed unrealistic and fantastical but she was so damn curious. She then moved back into feeling stupid for not being able to let it go and sank further into her pillow, groaning in disgust.

Her alarm went off again, telling her it was time for her morning jog but Lisa knew she would spend the entire run continuing to obsess over Jackson. Staying in bed all day would not be any better so she willed herself to get up and head to the gym where she could take out her feelings in a kickboxing class. Anger was better than depression and self pity. Maybe pretending the red punching bag had Jackson's face on it would help right her state of mind.

Cynthia joined Lisa at the gym, singing "Woo hoo! Someone had a late night!" when she saw Lisa's tired eyes.

Lisa forced a smile that may have looked slightly bitter and Cynthia backtracked immediately. "Ohh... I take it the date didn't go so well?"

"Maybe," Lisa shrugged, but the way she relentlessly attacked the red punching bag for a solid hour more or less answered Cynthia's question.

Lisa had been right. Turning self pity and obsession into anger was a much better mental place to be in.

When the girls reached the Lux Atlantic, Lisa jumped on every moody guest that approached the front desk, possibly making their days slightly worse until Cynthia informed her that she was acting crazy so Lisa retreated to her office to spend the rest of the day focusing on admin. She burned through about three months worth of work, numbers and names replacing conscious thoughts, including the all mighty question: why was she so irrationally upset about a man she hardly knew?

After Lisa's bizarre behavior all day, Cynthia pressed her to come for a drink at the Luau Lounge to get whatever was bothering her off her chest. Having no desire to sit home brooding over Jackson, Lisa agreed and they headed to the cheesy bar when their shifts ended. Her friend seemed genuinely concerned, but also very keen to finally find out what had transpired between Lisa and Jackson.

Normally, Lisa would bottle this information up. She was the person people told their sad stories to, not the other way around. But after a handful of Sea Breezes on an empty stomach, she was swaying in her seat and pouting, her frustration palatable.

"I kissed him, twice," she admitted miserably.

Cynthia made a happy, girlish sound. "And were they good kisses?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"It doesn't matter," Lisa muttered, exasperated. "I don't know this guy at all."

"Well, you know you like kissing him," Cynthia pointed out with a cheeky grin.

"I didn't say that," Lisa protested moodily. She squeezed shut her eyes for a moment, her forehead creasing slightly. "But yes, fine, I did!"

Cynthia pressed her lips into a hard line, trying to understand. "Lisa, come on. He's in town for a week, you two have major vibes from what you're telling me. Why can't you just let go and enjoy your mystery man while he's here? Ooh - you need another Sea Breeze. Be right back!"

The redhead took off for the bar, leaving Lisa alone with her destructive thoughts.

 _Protect yourself_ , a voice that sounded remarkably like Grandma Henrietta whispered in her ear, and Lisa resolved that she would do just that. No shenanigans with the off-putting stranger who had a job he wouldn't talk about, who met up with _other_ strange men to exchange secretive objects late at night. None of that fit into the little bubble Lisa had created for herself around her condo, the Lux, and her father's house on Sundays.

Annoyed and a little drunk, Lisa jabbed out a text before she could reason with herself not to.

 _Who was your friend last night?_

Cynthia returned with two fresh Sea Breezes. "Uh oh," she winced, seeing Lisa's phone on the table top and sent her a knowing look. "You texted him, didn't you."

"Psshhh," Lisa retorted drunkenly. "I have manners, it's fine to tell him I never want to see him again."

"I guess," Cynthia agreed warily. "Don't you think it's easier to just, ya know, not talk to him at all until he gets the point? That way you don't have be all..."

Instead of finishing her sentence, Cynthia gestured up and down to the tipsy and irate Lisa. "I know that's the advice you would give me," Cynthia added.

Lisa frowned deeply, knowing this was true. "Argh," she groaned loudly and buried her face in her Sea Breeze for a few long sips of the sweet cocktail. "He's just so _annoying_! He's the first guy in so long that I've felt... _anything_ for. It felt like something _real._ Then he turns out to be a big fake lying bastard."

Cynthia squinted at Lisa as though trying to read her like a foreign text. "What did he lie to you about?"

"Everything," Lisa scoffed dramatically. "Or maybe just one thing. I don't _know._ "

After a beat of silence Cynthia pressed her again, "OK, so something happened to make you feel like you can't trust him and he may be bad news? Is that what you're saying Lisa?"

Lisa nodded mutely and took another large gulp of her Sea Breeze.

"And you don't think maybe you're just being paranoid?" Cynthia continued delicately.

" _Hell_ no," Lisa said with finality. "There is something wrong with Jackson Rippner. My God! Even the name! Ugh." She dove back into the Sea Breeze, ignoring the way Cynthia was staring at her in bewilderment.

Her phone beeped once and Lisa immediately snapped it up, her eyes unfocused as she read.

 _Are you alright?_

"Am i alright," Lisa snorted gracelessly, now accepting that she was, in fact, quite intoxicated. She tapped out a reply, feeling very satisfied with herself.

 _I don't want to see you anymore._

Lisa showed Cynthia the text with a satisfied nod before she pressed send, and her friend let out a low whistle.

"Pretty dramatic, I wouldn't have expected that from you, Lisa. But, I guess I did _also_ think you were gay so that just goes to show what I know."

"See, there's that too!" Lisa threw her hands up in despair. "If I'm acting crazy it's because of him. I _never_ act crazy! Right?"

"Mmm," Cynthia hummed diplomatically. "I guess maybe when you pull a 48 hour shift. That's pretty crazy."

"No, that's just _me_ ," Lisa corrected. "That is normal. All this stuff with a guy is not normal for me."

Cynthia looked pained, like she didn't know what to say and anything of value would just fall on deaf ears.

Lisa's phone began to ring. She looked down and groaned loudly. "It's him," she whined.

"Well, I don't think you should answer it," Cynthia advised. "You're kinda tipsy and... angry right now. You may say something-"

Lisa abruptly answered the phone, steeling herself.

"You okay, Leese?" Jackson's voice came through the other end of the phone, smooth and concerned.

"No, I'm not," she replied hotly. "You frighten me. You have secrets and you basically lied to me last night when you sent me home and met up with your _friend._ "

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, Jackson likely trying to work out what he would say to an inebriated Lisa.

"I can explain..."

"I'm sure you can!" Lisa's voice leapt a few pitches then sank again. "I don't want to hear it. You're leaving, that's fine, none of this matters and it was a bad idea. Just leave me alone."

"No," he countered petulantly.

Lisa sputtered uselessly. "What do you mean, _'no'_?"

"It means I want to see you tomorrow, explain... what I can."

"Oh my God!" Lisa moaned. "I don't even know what... don't even know _what you're capable of_! You literally just said there are things you can't explain and that just proves my point. I want to stay away from you where I'm safe!"

"Leese," Jackson's voice was low and urgent. "I don't want to leave it like this with you."

"Why does it matter," Lisa rolled her eyes. "You'll be gone soon. It will be like none of this ever happened."

"That's not true, Leese," Jackson insisted, his voice soft and even. "We had a good time together. We had fun. I don't want you going back to your - to not -" he seemed to fight his own tongue to form the words. "This is worth hanging on to even if it can't become anything," He said at last.

Lisa pondered his words, torn between the alarm bells telling her to get away and the flutter in her stomach that made her want to believe him. "I'm still mad at you."

"I can tell," he chuckled. "Let's meet up tomorrow. Just to say goodbye. Then you can go back to your life."

Lisa found herself speechless and confused, and simply sat quietly blinking hard for a few seconds while Jackson waited patiently. "Text me tomorrow," she snapped eventually, and ended the call.

Cynthia was staring with wide eyes. "That sounded... intense," she winced. "For a guy you met a week ago..."

"He is intense. And scary," Lisa huffed. "I'm drunk. I need to sleep."

"I'll call you an uber," Cynthia offered and Lisa nodded dumbly, draining the rest of her sixth... or seventh Sea Breeze. She had out-drank Cynthia by five cocktails. Lisa blamed Jackson for that as well; his fault encouraging her to drink so much.

Cynthia helped her out of the bar, saying she could give Lisa a ride if she wanted but Lisa refused, shaking her head vehemently. "You've been too nice to me tonight, Cynthia. I don't deserve it when I'm acting all... horrible."

"You're not horrible, Lisa," Cynthia chuckled affectionately, giving her friend a warm hug. "You're wonderful, if not slightly emotionally stunted, but that's okay with me."

"Thanks," Lisa mumbled, casting her mind back to what exactly had stunted her emotional capacity. A knife at her throat. A random man inside her. A tearful trip to the gynecologist to make sure she wasn't pregnant or worse. Avoiding the police and crying into her dad's shoulder instead. All of it had been so awful. She wanted the safety net she'd created back, and within that net there was no room for Jackson Rippner.

Cynthia set off for her car, leaving Lisa swaying slightly outside the bar while she waited for her cab.

Watching Cynthia drive off, Lisa slowly began to experience the odd sensation of a presence nearby despite the apparently empty parking lot. A crease appeared between her eyebrows as she strained ears for the sound of footsteps. Why would there be another person loitering - or hiding - outside the bar? She supposed perhaps it could be another drunk person waiting for a cab, or someone just having a cigarette - except she couldn't smell tobacco and she couldn't see anyone though she was sure there was someone there...

Lisa scanned the area, more alert and her curiosity peaked while her insides screwed up with a healthy dose of fear.

Sweeping her gaze back across the lot, Lisa suddenly spotted a skinny young man wearing an ill-fitting suit. He had the dark colouring of South Asia and his hair was overly coiffed with product. Although he appeared not to notice Lisa at first, he abruptly glanced her way like he was searching her out, making eye contact and then quickly turning on his heel and striding away.

Lisa's skin prickled with suspicion - there had been obvious recolonization in the man's eyes before he bolted. She wrapped her arms around herself, willing her Uber to arrive and wishing her life would return to normal.

Perhaps she was just be being paranoid; the attack had certainly introduced a troubling amount of anxiety and suspicion to her daily life.

Regardless of that logic, something deep inside Lisa knew she wasn't just being paranoid this time. Something was happening around her; she just didn't know what it was yet.

* * *

The following morning Lisa woke up with a splitting headache and a text message from Jackson politely asking if she would be comfortable meeting him at the harbor in downtown Miami on her lunch break. It felt slightly condescending - _would you be comfortable_ \- but considering she'd drunkenly ranted about being afraid of him, Lisa supposed he was just trying to let her know he wasn't about to kidnap her or attempt some other nefarious plot in such a public place.

The fact that she had to meet the man she was dating in a public place so he couldn't kidnap her was ridiculous in of itself.

Lisa went for her morning jog, listening to Rachmaninoff through earbuds to help sooth her mind - it almost nearly worked.

She got dressed for work, selecting a navy dress with a matching blazer and low heels. Definitely not an outfit Cynthia could raise her eyebrows at or deduce that Lisa was meeting with Jackson. She'd already decided to keep it to herself - remembering how much she'd shared with her friend forced a swell of embarrassment in her stomach. Lisa was not the sharing type and the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Jackson any further. She would see what he had to say - although Lisa wasn't entirely sure why she was agreeing to it - and then that would be it. She would wash her hands of Jackson Rippner and return her focus to her calm if not boring life.

Cynthia was late for her shift which technically Lisa should have reprimanded her for, but with the night before hanging in her mind she simply offered a secretive wink and let it go. In return Cynthia seemed to realize bringing up the Luau Lounge would not be appreciated and nattered away about the trip to Costa Rica she and her sister were planning while Lisa feigned interest and made appropriately jealous sounds.

Her lunch break came too soon, and Lisa reluctantly dragged herself to her car, feeling as though she were about to walk the plank instead of quickly meeting up with with someone - and Lisa meant _very_ quickly. She decided to give him no more than ten minutes to do whatever explaining he wanted, and perhaps some of it would help her understand him, but whatever happened he had ten minutes and then she was finished with him.

Finding parking near the harbor was a nightmare, business men on their lunch breaks and tourists about to board cruise ships flooded the streets. Eventually Lisa managed to find a spot and pulled herself out of her car, dreading the meeting. As she locked her car a flash of coiffed black hair caught her eye, and Lisa found herself staring warily at a man reading a newspaper on a bench nearby. She could see the styled hair over the top of the newspaper and a scrawny torso and pair of legs below.

For a moment, Lisa considered getting a better look at the man with the newspaper, a nagging feeling telling her it was the same person she'd seen in the parking lot of the Luau Lounge, but she quickly dismissed it. Investigating random people she had bad feelings about was not conducive to returning to a normal stress-free life.

Dragging her feet slightly, Lisa found the section of the harbor she'd agreed to meet Jackson. A huge cruise ship towered over the dock, casting it in shadow, while tourists raced about. As safe and public a place as she could have hoped for.

Jackson had his back to her, his arms crossed as he inspected the ship. He was wearing another well-tailored suit - dark gray this time - that made him look at home with the businessmen milling about.

Lisa hesitated, gathering her courage, and then strode forward to stand by his side.

"Hello," she greeted him coldly, also staring at the cruise ship as though her life depended on it. To her great annoyance her pulse had begun to pound mercilessly, reflective of her nervousness. "You have ten minutes."

"Nice to see you too," Jackson said somewhat snidely as he rotated to face her, his arms still crossed. "Has the ten minutes started yet?"

Lisa could feel him inspecting her, but she refused to look at him in return, instead watching a man on a lift cleaning the ship's windows. "Yes," she bit out.

Jackson clicked his tongue and made an annoyed sound. "You aren't even going to look at me?"

"Nine minutes," Lisa retorted.

He gave a short snort of laughter at that and moved to stand in front of her, leaning against the dock's railing. "Nine and a half minutes, Leese," he corrected dryly. "I thought you had questions for me? Let's have it."

"I don't have any questions," Lisa replied icily, finally meeting his eyes and then looking away when she saw how intensely the pale blue was focused on her. "You're the one who wanted to see me."

After a pause Jackson's voice softened somewhat. "Why are you being like this? I don't understand."

Lisa made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat and turned what she intended to be a cold and merciless glare in his direction. But his eyes had softened along with his voice and he was now gazing at her sadly as though concerned for her well-being, and suddenly Lisa discovered words had failed her and that her assertions were unreasonable or at least not easy to explain to someone who couldn't possibly understand what being raped could do to a person's sense of trust.

She realized she was staring back at him, and a twinge of yearning shot through her, making her want to explain that she had issues and tell him it's not you it's me - but that was exactly the opposite of how she had felt for the past day and a half.

Jackson blew out a long breath through his teeth, saving her from having to say anything. "Look Leese, I know I may seem a bit... odd," he dragged a hand across his jaw, searching for the right words while Lisa watched intently. "You may have noticed my job is... hard to explain."

"I thought you were a business consultant," Lisa deadpanned. "What's odd about that?"

He pushed his hair off his face, still looking pensive. "Yeah. The thing is, there is a lot I can't tell you about my work, okay? You say that makes you nervous, and that is completely reasonable." He shot her an odd look she couldn't quite decipher before continuing. "I know it's hard, trust me. That's why I avoid..." His lips twisted bitterly and he looked out at the ocean while gesturing between himself and Lisa. "These sorts of things."

Lisa's eyes widened as she considered his words and watched his expression change. She saw something there she deeply related to: loneliness. "That must be hard," she found herself saying, genuine understanding colouring her words.

Jackson's head swiveled back towards her, an unreadable emotion crossing his face. "Yeah," he agreed lightly, his pale eyes flickering from her face to her shoes and back again - not crudely but intently as though he wanted to memorize her. "But with you, Leese. Come on, you know there's something-"

He cut himself off and coughed loudly, looking back at the cruise ship once more instead of at Lisa.

The anger and self-pity had drained completely out of Lisa, leaving her apprehensive while the affection she felt for Jackson threatened to swoop back in and consume her. The urge to reprimand herself did not occur to her either, paranoia and suspicion evaporating in the face of what was clearly genuine feeling.

"I know," she agreed softly, unable to stop staring as she noticed new things in the glaring sunlight that had escaped her before. A light scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His hair slightly too long in the back so it curled ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. An angry scar peaking up over the collar of his shirt. "I feel it too, that there's something... I guess, maybe rare would be the word to use."

Jackson's head snapped back towards her, this time surprise and disbelief colouring his cheeks. "Yeah," he agreed, sounding distracted. "Rare might be the right word for it."

The intensity returned to his gaze, and Lisa could practically feel it pressing through her as though he were touching her himself. She swallowed thickly, knowing she was unable to keep sadness from lining her face, matching Jackson's expression completely. That he had secrets was unfortunate, but now what truly tugged at Lisa's heart was the fact that she would likely never see him again in a few days time.

His mouth tightened as his eyes flew from her eyes to her lips and back again, then he shook his head almost imperceptibly, coming to an internal conclusion. "Listen to me, Leese," he said, his voice growing serious as he stepped closer and took both of her hands in his. "I need you to be careful no matter what happens."

Lisa frowned up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he chewed on his lower lip, blinking rapidly. "I mean make the right choices to keep yourself safe."

Her eyes widened, a sliver of doubt edging into her mind. "Keep myself safe from what?"

Jackson looked as though he was struggling to say what he meant, swallowing thickly while his jaw worked. "From whatever comes," he said at last.

The sliver of doubt evolved into a clear sense of foreboding. "What is coming?" Lisa demanded, the softness leaving her voice as the tender moment between them began to fade. "Jackson, what is going on?"

"I can't tell you," he said, looking pained as he squeezed her hands meaningfully, but Lisa snatched them away, now glaring accusingly.

"I knew it," she laughed humorlessly. "I knew whatever goes on with your work, with your _secrets,_ that I don't want any part in it. This was a mistake."

As she began to turn away Jackson grabbed her arm roughly, tugging her back. "I'm serious Leese," he told her, his face stony and his shoulders rigid.

Lisa hesitated, ignoring the urge to kick him in the shins and run off into the sea of tourists while she considered his words. There was clearly something he wanted to tell her but would not, perhaps something she would already be affected by regardless of if she ran. Instead of satisfying her desire for flight, Lisa fixed Jackson with an less severe stare. "Tell me," she entreated him. "Jackson, tell me."

Jackson shut his eyes, breathing raggedly. "Leese, you have to trust me. If i tell you your life will be in danger."

She reeled away from him at that, feeling as though she'd been electrocuted by his alarming statement. "What?!" She demanded furiously, taking a further step back.

"You heard me," Jackson warned softly.

Lisa shook her head furiously, unable to form a coherent thought aside from Jackson's words echoing through her mind. "I'm going," she managed to say at last, and turned to walk away but stopped short at the sight before her.

Through the throngs of tourists in bright clothes and business men in their dark suits she could see a man leaning against the harbor railing opposite them, no more than a hundred feet away. His face was partially hidden under dark sunglasses and his hair beneath a baseball cap, but Lisa could see that his skin was a dark South Asian tone and a badly-fitted suit hung off his skinny frame.

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as she stared, knowing deep in her gut that it was the same person she'd spotted earlier and in the parking lot of the Luau Lounge.

"Leese?" Jackson had reached for her hand, his fingers entwining with hers before she snapped out of her daze and turned her attention back to Jackson, glancing down at their joined hands then pulling back violently.

"I am being _followed_!" She said it quietly, but with enough emphasis that she may as well have shouted. Worse yet, she could tell Jackson was restraining himself from looking over her shoulder at her stalker - which meant he knew.

"Leese, look," he tried again but she held her hands up for silence.

"No, no, no. I don't want to hear it, Jackson," she shook her head vehemently, not wanting to look him in the eye again. " _Goodbye_."

With that, Lisa turned on her heel and marched back to her car, keeping her eyes peeled for her stalker but seeing noone where he had stood seconds before.

Once safely inside the car she let her head rest against the steering wheel for a few minutes, replaying Jackson's words over and over in her head.

Instead of bringing about any kind of resolution or finality to their relationship, Lisa had only come away feeling truly in danger - like she had been threatened but she had no idea with what. But Jackson certainly seemed to know, which made Lisa furious. He had also seemed eager for her to be safe, which made her even more furious if whatever was coming was his fault in the first place.

Tears began to drip down Lisa's cheeks as her face crumpled, feeling empty and frustrated more than scared. She should have been scared, she knew that would have been reasonable, but she wanted Jackson to tell her outright what was going on. Not knowing and finding herself before a veil of secrecy when her life was apparently on the line made her feel useless and small.

Lisa brushed the tears away from her eyes, trying not to smudge her make up. What made it all the more confusing was how genuine he had told her about his feelings, and how he had fought against himself to keep his secrets from her because, according to Jackson, that would keep her safe.

Shaking her head slowly, and trying to organize her mind, Lisa started her car and began driving in the direction of the Lux, hoping there would be an angry guest waiting for her to take her mind off this emotionally exhausting situation she'd found herself in.

* * *

Lisa stormed off, leaving Jackson staring after her with barely concealed guilt until he realized just how much he was giving away to anyone looking and quickly rearranged his face to an impassive black canvas. The burner phone in his pocket began to vibrate and Jackson retrieved it with trepidation, not in the mood to take another hit after the emotional roller coaster he'd just experienced with Lisa, but luckily it was a simple text.

 _Lovely. 3PM your time. NK_

"Thank God," Jackson muttered under his breath, relieved at he would at least be speaking to his contact in Austria to get a better idea of what was going on in Europe.

He pocketed the phone and quickly began scanning the crowd until he spotted a younger man in a suit wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses not one hundred feet away. Jackson had spotted the familiar face seconds before Lisa had, and it took all of his self-control to keep from scowling as he stormed through the crowd, coming to lean inconspicuously against the harbor railing beside the man.

"Agent Khan," Jackson bit out acridly, staring straight ahead.

"Hey bro," the younger man, Agent Khan replied airily. "Don't be mad, I'm just keeping an eye on the both of you. And I gotta ask, are you honey potting her, man?"

"You're a fucking idiot, Tarquin," Jackson gritted his teeth in irritation. "Say anything about this to Sykes and you're a dead man."

Tarquin snorted wryly and flipped a page in his newspaper. "Man, don't be like that. You know I gotta tell Sykes that you _basically_ just shared classified information with your Subject," he said boldly. "And if you kill me, you will _so_ be dead within a week. So maybe don't threaten me, yeah? I'll keep an eye on her since she knows all about you now. It's for your own good. And hers."

"She doesn't know all about me," Jackson countered sharply.

"Uh huh," Tarquin replied dryly. "And how is she going to react to you after that little... chivalrous display, huh? Think it's gonna be good?"

Jackson closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, knowing Tarquin was right though he hated him for it. "Try to be more discrete. She knows she's being watched."

Tarquin shrugged lazily. "I'll do my best."

"Your best isn't good enough," Jackson said, his voice low and dangerous. "Do better."

"She didn't notice you for eight weeks - nine weeks now, I guess," Tarquin pointed out.

Jackson sent him a dark look. "That's because I'm better than you at your own fucking job." He looked Tarquin up and down. "Do you really think a suit and a baseball cap don't make you stand out? You're supposed to be discrete not dressed like an idiot."

"Calm down, dude," Tarquin chuckled. "Agent Khan is on the case."

"You are fucking unbearable," Jackson muttered, pushing away from the railing and leaving Tarquin to his careless attempts at espionage.

* * *

 **A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

The Hardest of Hearts

7.

 _ **Langley, Virginia**_

 _"Good to see you, Bill," the Director shook Sykes hand firmly and gestured to a pair of couches a few feet from his desk, a huge and ancient piece of furniture that dominated the room. "Take a seat, put your feet up."_

 _"Thank you, sir," Sykes replied, somewhat subdued as he waited for the director to sit and then chose a seat opposite him. "I need to debrief you on the Keefe Case."_

 _The director sighed loudly, looking disgruntled. "Stay light on the details, I only need to know the main events with a case like this."_

 _"I am aware," Sykes explained and unfolded an iPad he'd been carrying under his arm. He flicked the screen and typed in a passcode. "Unfortunately this needs your direct approval. We've found a fly in the ointment."_

 _"Let me guess," the Director grunted. "Rippner."_

 _Sykes chuckled warily. "He's good at what he does, sir. I'd rather have him on our side than theirs."_

 _"He's a prick," the Director shrugged. "I don't have to like him."_

 _"No, sir, you don't," Sykes agreed, and tapped the iPad's screen a few times. "This is an exceedingly complicated mission - especially being that it's on home soil - with a very wide margin of error. In this case the error is as minor as we could hope for."_

 _Sykes turned the iPad towards the Director and Agent Tarquin Khan's youthful visage stared back at them from the screen. "Director, Agent Sykes," he nodded respectfully at his bosses._

 _"What's the word, Khan," the Director asked gruffly folding his elbows over his knees as if he were in a football huddle._

 _"Human error, sir," Tarquin replied stiffly. "The old fashioned kind. Rippner has developed personal feelings for his Subject, and the entirety of his plan hinges on her one role."_

 _"That isn't accurate," Sykes interrupted. "His subject is Lisa Reisert, a hotel manager in Miami. Her role is significant but I promise you, there are many more at-risk people in play than the hotel manager, sir." He caught Tarquin rolling his eyes and made a note to punch the younger agent next time he saw him._

 _"Don't tell me anymore," the Director said, waving his hand in the air like he was swatting a fly. "So, Rippner's fucking his subject - could it be a play?"_

 _"That's what I originally thought," Sykes explained. "But Agent Khan's surveillance has resulted in new findings."_

 _Tarquin spoke up then. "A lover's quarrel would be the best way to put it," he elaborated. "Very uncharacteristic of Rippner. He's not even trying to hide the fact that his Subject is getting to him. Let's just say, sir, that I'm not blind and what I saw was worrying."_

 _"We need to alter the mission," Sykes said decisively. "He's not going to like but you don't get a five million euros for shits and giggles."_

 _"What do you suggest?" The Director asked calmly._

 _"Agent Khan and field agents in the area will deal with the Reisert girl. Rippner will stay out of it and make sure all else runs smoothly. He's done enough setting the mission up and we can take it from here. It is crucial Lisa Reisert does discover the agency is involved."_

 _"She won't take Rippner seriously anymore," Tarquin added. "I'll take over his role - round up some field agents down here, take her to a secure location, show her the surveillance of her father-"_

 _"Enough!" The Director held both palms up, his face twisting in frustration. "Khan, I don't need to know the details of how you're planning to terrorize a civilian. Imagine the devastation this would bring upon the agency if it ever got out. The last thing we need is me having to lie to Congress about this mess."_

 _"Yes, sir," Tarquin nodded, cringing._

 _"When?" the Director asked curtly._

 _"ASAP," Sykes confirmed. "Agent Khan is providing surveillance tonight. We carry out the mission and send her on her way. Job done. She can go back to her life, perhaps in need of a little therapy but no harm done."_

 _The Director spent a solid minute considering the proposal. "This Reisert girl, she must be intelligent."_

 _"What makes you say that, sir?" Khan asked, clearly trying not to laugh._

 _"Have you met Rippner?" The Director jabbed a finger towards the iPad. "He doesn't suffer fools."_

 _"What's your point, sir?" Sykes shot Tarquin a dark look and the younger man pressed his lips together firmly._

 _"My point is, what should we do if she discovers, via whatever method, that the CIA is behind this operation."_

 _The room was quiet for a moment before Sykes finally spoke up. "In that unlikely event, sir, she will be terminated."_

 _The Director considered this for a moment. "Do it."_

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

On his way back to the hotel Jackson stopped at the Mercedes dealership and traded the sporty black GT Coupe for a more elegant silver S-Class Saloon. Lisa was too familiar with his car and he did not intend to let her roam loose and unprotected with Khan on her tail, nor did he especially want her to realize he was following her and think he was an insane stalker. Hence a new shape and colour car was in order. And luckily, they had the manual version S-Class - finally some good news.

It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon by the time Jackson returned to his hotel, jittery but focused and prepared to outwit Khan in any way he had to. He hadn't worked out how he would deal with Lisa and her phone call in less than 48 hours, but he was certain there was a solution. Threatening her father directly was pointless - she knew he wouldn't kill her father after their encounter at the harbor, Jackson was willing to bet money it. There had to be a way around it.

In some respects, he had unintentionally - or maybe subconsciously - planted the seeds of a few potential plays when he'd unsubtly hinted that something bad was coming her way. If he could no longer be villain he would have to be protector, perhaps use Tarquin as a foil to threaten her father. Then Jackson would be the balm to calm her and convince her that Tarquin would in fact murder Joe Reisert if she didn't make the call.

The obvious problem there was Lisa could probably take Tarquin out herself between her superior intelligence and weekly kickboxing classes. She wasn't the shrinking violet he'd originally pegged her as, and from her reaction to him at the harbor she was damn sure she could look after herself.

Something had happened to her... something to make her hide in her house, to make her so wary of him after simply seeing Jackson speaking to Sykes when she couldn't possibly know who Sykes was.

How had she even figured out he'd met up with Sykes? Her own brand of surveillance? She was too smart for her own good. And sneaky too.

Exhaling a heavy breath, Jackson set himself up in front of his laptop and uploaded the encrypted video player Sykes had given him. He checked his watch a handful of times, willing time to speed up. Just as it struck 3PM a video call came through and Jackson answered it warily, not sure what he would get on the other side.

An elderly gentleman with chocolate-brown skin and spectacles balanced on end of his nose appeared. "Jackson," he nodded at the camera, a soft smile lighting up his lined face.

"Nassif," Jackson smiled back, feeling a stirring of affection for the older man. "How is Vienna?"

"Oh," Nassif chuckled. "I have not lived in Vienna for some years. I now reside in Leukerbad where they have many thermal springs that sooth my arthritis. It is a tiny town, no one will find me here. But that is not why you have called nor is it to do with what I have to tell you."

Jackson's stomach sank slightly as Nassif's tone grew more serious. "Why is she looking for me?" He asked, somewhat moodily "I was hoping to avoid her forever."

Nassif shook his head and sighed sadly. "Fatima has far too much money for you to avoid her forever, Jackson. As to the why - I cannot say for sure, but there have been whispers that her Italian husband was recently in Libya and Iraq, which makes me think he was sent there by Fatima."

Jackson's mind reeled, thinking back to various times he'd been to Libya and the kinds of people who operated there. "Why would she send Prinzeguerra to Libya?"

"Would you be so surprised if she was carrying on the family tradition?" Nassif pressed his lips together, frowning. "She has always been impulsive and greedy. You know that better than anyone else, Jackson."

"She's funding terrorism," Jackson stated flatly, knowing immediately that it was true. "And she's seeking me out." He felt a twist of nausea when he realized what that meant.

Nassif looked pained but tried to smile, seeming to understand what Jackson was going through. "As far as she knows, you are still working quietly within that world." He paused carefully, delicately adding, "And as far as I know... that is what you still do."

"So she wants to give me money?" Jackson pushed his hair off his forehead, trying to ignore the sick feeling settling in his stomach. "She wants me in her pocket to do her bidding."

"Perhaps she wants you in her bed, as well," Nassif pointed out sagely.

" _Fuck._ " Jackson allowed his shoulders to droop as he covered his face in his hands. He would only ever allow Nassif to see him like this. Not quite broken but on the verge of despondency.

"You are Jackson Rippner," Nassif reminded him gently. "You will make the right moves... but I urge you not to engage her. Inform the correct people to keep an eye on her and stay out of it. You deserve that much. Have you met a nice girl yet?" The older man offered a cheeky wink in an attempt at levity.

Jackson choked out a laugh, straightening his shoulders. "Kind of," he admitted. "But it isn't going to work out."

"Eh," Nassif shrugged, "You never know."

They shared a chuckle.

"I must go," Nassif sighed. "It is very late here in these lonely Alps."

"Goodbye, Nassif," Jackson said sincerely. "And thank you."

The call ended but Jackson sat in front of the laptop running his palm back and forth across his jaw - he hadn't shaved in days and stubble was starting to come through, but it was a good enough distraction from thoughts of Fatima deciding she wanted Jackson back in her life - and in her bed, as Nassif had suggested. Thoughts of her raised a bitter contempt Jackson hadn't realized he felt so strongly. But it was well-deserved. Just before he and Nassif had betrayed the al-Ahads Jackson had come to the conclusion that she was at least a sociopath, if not other horrible things as well.

After a much-needed shave and a quick text to let Sykes know he had more information from Europe, Jackson climbed into the silver Mercedes and drove the familiar path back to the Lux. Lisa's shift didn't end for another two hours but he needed to see her sooner, otherwise their encounter would be observed by the idiotic Tarquin, and Jackson did not need the CIA to know he would be supplying Lisa with the most meager of precautions.

Upon entering the parking lot of the Lux, Jackson immediately spotted Tarquin staked out in a rented blue Honda Civic - both his complete lack of subtlety and his choice of vehicle made Jack's lip curl in distaste as he parked around back where deliveries were made. Thanks to months of careful planning, Jackson knew the ins and outs of the Lux Atlantic better than possibly even Lisa did, including the kitchen entrance where the door was always propped open for staff to come and go for smoking breaks.

Yes, Jackson decided as he popped on a lazy disguise of Buddy Holly style glasses, he would definitely have made a much better spy than Tarquin could ever hope to be. Unfortunately nearly a decade of bad choices would prevent him from ever being offered such a position, but Jackson ultimately preferred it that way. Without ties to a government he could disappear when necessary, or just because he felt like it.

The kitchens of the Lux were immaculate and relatively slow after lunch and before the dinner rush. Jackson strolled in with his mobile pressed to his ear, faking a conversation about Tiffany china to keep the waitstaff from paying too close attention to him - he didn't miss a female chef staring as he passed, but it was the boring attention-seeking kind of stare, not that the chef had observed anything out of the ordinary. She would forget the handsome stranger as soon as the dinner rush picked up.

Still faking a conversation with his phone, Jackson followed the halls he knew so well via blueprints, from the kitchen through to the main lobby. Lisa was behind the front desk, beaming a lovely but fake smile as she chatted happily with a guest. She had removed her navy blazer and her slim white arms waved gregariously as she related something to the guest.

Jackson thought she looked especially pretty when she was in her natural environment and oblivious to his presence (and therefore much happier) and though he hated himself for it, his pulse sped up a notch at seeing her and there was an annoying flutter in his stomach as he circumnavigated the front desk, drawing close enough that he could smell her perfume. Feeling her eyes on him but not returning the look, Jackson sat himself down on one of the plush sofas for guests and tapped on his phone while he waited.

Ten minutes later he could still smell her and feel her watching him, and Jackson almost had to physically fight the urge to look back at her.

Ten minutes more and she finally approached, her smile more of a grimace as she appeared before him, chirping, "Hello, sir. Can i help you with anything?"

"Oh, hi," Jackson smiled pleasantly up at her, amused by the contradiction between her smile and the death glare she was aiming at him. He couldn't help crack a real grin at her predicament. "I'm just waiting for a friend," he continued happily, in a voice quite different from his own. "But in the meantime, I might just go to the disabled peoples' toilets." With that he got to his feet, still grinning broadly while Lisa's jaw clenched further.

"Sounds good!" She agreed even though she looked like she wanted to kill him.

Keeping his face cheery as though he were thinking some very happy banal thoughts, Jackson strolled away from Lisa towards the disabled peoples' toilets, which locked from the inside and would allocate them a certain amount of privacy within the walls of the hotel.

Five minutes later and Lisa slipped in after him, locking the door behind her before she whirled around to scowl at him.

"What the hell are you doing here!" She hissed, keeping her voice low. "Why are you wearing glasses?"

Jackson pushed the glasses up on top of his head and fixed her with a serious look. "I want to give you something," he explained simply.

Lisa shot him a look of disbelief, "Give me something," she repeated incredulously.

"Yes," Jackson countered, digging into his back pocket. He retrieved a black box about the size of a mobile phone and handed it to her. "A taser," he said when she simply stared down at the device in her palm.

"A taser," Lisa repeated dully.

Jackson raised an eyebrow at her, "Are you going to repeat everything I say from now on?"

Lisa scowled at him. "Why are you giving me a taser, Jackson?" She demanded. "Why did you come to my work and give me a taser?"

"Because," Jackson explained smoothly, popping the glasses back down onto his face as he prepared to leave. "It can't hurt to be prepared."

She moved in front of him, blocking his exit. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared for _what_?" She pressed, staring intently up into his face.

Jackson hesitated, caught between a rock and a hard place once again. He couldn't tell her the CIA were going to kill Keefe with her help or they'd kill her. He couldn't tell her that her Father might be in danger because that could foil any play he might devise with Tarquin positioned as the villain. He couldn't tell her that the people he was theoretically having her protect herself from was in fact the CIA because again, they would kill her or at least thoroughly interrupt her life for getting in the middle of a plot to kill the Director of Homeland Security.

All his fault, Jackson realized, but for now, the best he could come up with was, "I can't tell you anything except to be careful."

Lisa's mouth fell open as though she couldn't believe he was feeding her that line again. "You bastard," she accused venomously and then, before Jackson could blink she rammed the taser into his side, sending a few volts of electric current through him before she calmly exited the disabled toilets.

Jackson crashed onto the floor twitching and grunting as the effects of the taser rang through him.

"Fucking hell, Leese," he managed to gasp as he tried pulled himself onto his hands and knees, then fell uselessly back down on the tiles.

* * *

Stepping outside of the disabled toilets, Lisa released a long, cleansing breath, wanting to laugh very hard at Jackson sprawled pathetically on the floor courtesy of the taser he'd just gifted her with.

A taser? Really? That was his grand idea when she'd told him to stay away? She could only hope his business would take him far away from Miami soon so she would finally be rid of him. Of course, there was the part where apparently her life was in some sort of danger which required her to carry a taser, and if that was the case, would his business not require him to stay in Miami? Or would Jackson be leaving and someone else taking over for him - someone who might actually have no compunction about hurting her...

There was a crash muffled by the door as Jackson fell again, which made Lisa very happy. He found his way in somehow, he could find his way back out. And if he attempted to speak to her again she decided she would call the police and tell them everything he'd said to her thus far. Including the part about surreptitiously sneaking into the hotel and giving her a goddamned taser.

She wasn't sure why she hadn't called the police yet, aside from something inside her telling her that would simply make things worse...

Lisa returned to the front desk, stopping quickly inside her office to hide the taser in her bag, and plastered her work smile on again.

"Right," she announced to the staff gathered around her. "Where are we at for Keefe's arrival on Friday?"

Cynthia counted on her fingers as she rattled off a list "Extra Cristal, Cubans, top shelf gift basket, fresh flowers - all ready to go! Well, except the flowers obviously. Then they wouldn't be fresh."

Lisa chuckled under her breath and gave Cynthia an approving nod. "Thank you, Cynthia. And how about the room itself, is 212 good to go? I know we normally don't hold suites this far in advance but the Secret Service will appreciate it and that makes everyone happier."

"Why is the Secret Service coming?" Asked one of her newer concierges, frowning. "Don't they live with the President?"

"No, Steve," Lisa tried to hide a smile as she shook her head. "Keefe is the Director of Homeland Security which make him part of the President's cabinet, so he gets a Secret Service detail to keep him safe."

 _Keep you safe._

Lisa frowned, repeating the words internally and suddenly feeling like there was a red flag somewhere that she was missing.

"Lisa?" Cynthia tapped her arm gently and Lisa plastered another big smile on her face.

"Right," she said cheerily. "Keefe arrives at 7AM Friday so I would like everyone with an 8AM shift to get here for 6AM unless you really can't. And guys," she looked around at the group giving them all supportive smiles like a good manager. "This is very important, and we really appreciate the extra work."

When Lisa's shift ended and she was back in her car she allowed herself to sit in silence for a few minutes, simply staring out the windshield at the sinking sun and willing herself not to pick apart each of her encounters with Jackson. He hadn't appeared again, and when she checked the disabled peoples' toilets before leaving they were empty, so she assumed he'd managed to get away unscathed. Hopefully he wouldn't show up again.

Lisa started the engine and checked her rear view mirror before she started backing out of her spot - but her foot froze on the brake peddle when a familiar body strolled casually past her car. She could see him clear as day, walking in and out of the purview of her rear view mirror without a care in the world - the man from the Luau Lounge and the harbor - and now he was here at the hotel!

Her first instinct was to get out of the car and confront him, but God only knew who he was or what was capable of. Second she entertained the thought of simply stomping down on the accelerator and backing over him - but murder was probably not the answer. Third she contemplated calling Jackson but banished that just as quickly. Of course, she could also call the police... but what if she was just being paranoid?

What if she ended up having to recount the attack from two years ago?

Lisa looked over her shoulder, trying to spot the skinny man again but he had disappeared from sight. She pressed her lips together, and finally decided she would just go home and watch an old movie, and pretend her life was getting back to normal and she was back bubble.

* * *

After shaking off the effects of the taser - which had taken a good twenty minutes during which Jackson more or less stayed sprawled on the bathroom floor twitching - he discretely slipped out through the kitchen and moved his car around to the front parking lot where he had a view of the hotel entrance as well as both Lisa's and Tarquin's cars.

Jackson had spent a majority of the last two months waiting in the parking lot of the Lux Atlantic. He knew every face that worked there, as well as those guests who were regulars - or in a few interesting cases, couples obviously spending a few scandalous hours together away from their real husbands and wives.

He didn't know the names of all the concierges. There was Cynthia, the goofy redhead who was Lisa's friend outside of work but the rest Jackson designated names solely for the purpose of entertaining himself. A younger guy with a bowl cut he'd named Father Ted. There was also a man who looked to be in his 30s and had to be at least six-foot-five from the looks of him - Jackson named him Chubaka. A mousy middle-aged woman who drove a ancient Cadillac was Mary Poppins. Not the most ingenious of nicknames but for Christ's sake, he was sitting alone in a car for ten hours at a time, what the fuck else was he going to do?

Jackson's train of through broke off when he spotted Lisa leaving the hotel and heading for her car. Minutes later and she was still just sitting there, not looking to make any headway. Then Tarquin crossed the parking lot, passing alarmingly close to Lisa's car as he headed for his own and Jackson could only stare in shock at the complete lack of finesse and lack of respect for his Subject. Did the CIA not care if she realized she was being followed?

Muttering a curse, Jackson drew out the burner phone and stabbed out a message to Sykes.

 _Fire Khan. Now. JR._

He pressed send and then decided to elaborate.

 _Too obvious. Keep him away or I will. JR_

He waited for Lisa's car to finally pull out of her spot and onto the main road, with Tarquin inevitably pursuing too obviously moments later.

Jackson counted another thirty seconds before following Tarquin and wondering if the agent was dumb enough to not expect Jackson to be tailing the pair of them. It was certainly plausible.

Ever the talented manager, Jackson kept a few car lengths between himself and the Honda Civic. Tarquin was less subtle, following Lisa every time she changed lanes, and Jackson could practically see her frowning into her rear view mirror, likely growing suspicious, especially after the day she'd had.

Lisa picked up on subtle signs and ques - she called it being able to read people or attention to detail, qualities necessary for good customer service, but Jackson saw it as a much more valuable talent. With a little tuition even she would be a better agent than Tarquin Khan considering the bang up job he was currently doing.

Tarquin followed Lisa into her apartment complex while Jackson parked on the street. He donned the Buddy Holly glasses again and pushed his hair off his face in another vague disguise that Lisa would definitely see through, but which would give him cover from her neighbors.

As expected, Tarquin was parked right in front of Lisa's condo and Jackson strode towards the dark blue Honda with growing irritation.

He had grown very protective of Lisa. It might have been simple attraction, or perhaps respect, or maybe something to do with the fluttering sensation in his gut he'd started experiencing whenever he was near her. There was also that fact that the CIA had brought in an incompetent agent who was compromising the mission Jackson had so deliberately and thoroughly planned for months. He was vain enough to admit he wanted to see it through to a very successful end, but now he also felt some terrible urge to keep an eye on Lisa that went well beyond surveillance.

He wondered how different things would be if he hadn't gotten to know her. If everything had gone down on the red-eye flight.

She would have fought him, but not knowing her, he might not have cared and would have pushed through. Unless she beat him. She could have beat him.

When he reached the driver's side of the Honda, Jackson rapped sharply on the window, impatiently shoving his hands in his trouser pockets while he waited for Tarquin to roll the window down.

"Well look who it is," Tarquin drawled, peering up at Jackson, who fumed down at him. "Nice specs," he added.

"She is going to notice you," Jackson snarled, not bothering to bend, preferring instead to talk down to the younger man. "I've been following her for weeks. I've spoken with her face-to-face. She will notice if you aren't more discrete. I may not be able to get you out of Miami but I can at least offer you that advice."

"Wonderful," Tarquin sighed as though he were bored. "Well thanks for that Jackson, but unfortunately the CIA is no longer in need of your services." He dug in his jacket pocket and offered up a USB stick. "I was gonna set up a drop but what the hell, I may as well just give it to you now."

"You are the worst spy I've ever met," Jackson sneered, accepting the USB.

"Oh yeah, man, and you know all the spies, don't you." Tarquin sent Jackson a withering look. "I've seen your file, dude. You're dark as shit and we're pulling you out before you fuck us all because you can't keep your dick in your pants."

Jackson paused, taking in this blunt assessment of the situation and where he now stood within it. So, they were concerned about his ability to handle Lisa and carry out the mission. "You shouldn't have told me that," he said in a low voice.

"You fucked up getting involved with her and you know it," Tarquin replied with uncharacteristic anger. "You know you have so you shouldn't be surprised that the higher ups are reigning you in before you fuck up one of the most sensitive missions we've ever had on or off the books."

Jackson scowled and reached through the car window, snatching Tarquin by his tie and violently jerking him forward. "What does reigning me in mean," he demanded, enjoying the way Tarquin struggled. "Do they just expect me to step back?"

"Man, everything is on this USB," Tarquin whined, wiggling away from Jackson's grip. "Why the fuck are you trying to interrogate it out of me when it's just gonna make you look worse, huh?" He smoothed out his tie, trying to regain his composure. "You're better than this, dude. I know you are, you know you are. There's a reason we trusted you with this and it isn't just because you owe us."

Jackson could only glare, having no argument to make against this. Tarquin was right. He _was_ better than this.

"Go back to your hotel, read your instructions, follow the rules and we'll all get out of this alive - including the Subject - without any more embarrassment than we've already had." Tarquin settled back into his seat and pushed the button for the window to roll back up.

"Fuck you," Jackson managed to spit before the window closed.

"Yeah? Fuck you too, Jackson," Tarquin replied bitterly.

Jackson sat in his car on the side of the road for hours. He wasn't doing a very good job of surveillance since he was just staring at the car's ceiling, daydreaming about Lisa and then brooding over his conversation with Nassif before his thoughts inevitably went back to Tarquin's words about being _reigned in_. What the fuck did that even mean. Then he would finger the USB stick, wondering what it contained before slipping back to thoughts of Lisa.

Dawn finally arrived and no one had come or gone from Lisa's apartment complex all night. Jackson checked his watch and saw it was approaching the time for Lisa's 6AM jog at the park around the corner, only accessible by the road or through a small gate near her condo. He imagined Tarquin following Lisa in the Honda Civic from a distance of a few feet, just rolling along behind her at 10 miles per hour while she jogged, and it brought a snide smirk to Jackson's lips.

His phone began to vibrate and ring loudly - the iPhone instead of the covert burner for a change, and Jackson dreaded it being Comms with terrible news.

Instead, he was surprised to see Lisa's name flashing on the screen in time with the vibrations. He almost missed the call, frowning down at the phone for too long as he tried to work out why she would be calling him - or even who could be calling him from her phone - before snapping to attention and answering.

"Leese?"

"Jackson!" Her voice was a breathless shriek, absolutely terrified. "Oh fuck, oh God!"

Jackson started the Mercedes, speaking calmly but urgently. "Where are you?"

"I'm almost back to my condo in-" Lisa didn't finish her sentence though, something had made her cry out and drop the phone.

"Leese!" Jackson shouted down the phone, "Lisa!"

* * *

 **A/N: WHAT THE HELLLLLL**

 **Review please :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Big Author's note here - this all takes place in an alternate universe where there's no Donald Trump. This story was conceived and drafted before any of the crazy shit going on started.**

* * *

The Hardest of Hearts

8.

 _ **Tehran**_

 _Following Islamic tradition, Fadid al-Ahad's body was buried the same day he died and there was a reception at the family's large home a few days later._

 _The mourners were close friends and associates of Fadid's from a list he had drawn up on his death bed, so numerous that there had to be political objectives in their collection. One by one they approached Fatima in the drawing room, dressed in a black gown and veil, a pout on her lips. She was flanked by her husband, who had the look of a dandy as he lounged beside her and looking bored, and other Fatima's other side was her best friend, a small woman who wore her black hair in a sleek bob and had an elfin-quality about her features._

 _Fatima grunted in frustration when another well-wisher left them in peace, and turned to her elfin friend. "Sassy, darling, please will you find me a drink before I kill myself out of boredom," she moaned dramatically._

 _Sassy offered her friend a gentle smile; she had always been the reasonable one in their twenty year friendship. "Darling, we're in Tehran at your father's funeral. I very much doubt there's a cocktail bar going."_

 _"Bloody idiot Muslims," Fatima sulked, huffing out a breath. She glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye. He was ignoring her, playing Pokemon Go on his iPhone. Fatima sneered, indignant that he was so disinterested in her and spun back to Sassy. For the first time that day she looked like she was about to cry - but not because of her father's passing._

 _"Oh, darling, don't cry," Sassy soothed, placing a gentle palm on Fatima's veiled cheek, the small diamond set in her her silver wedding band glinted in the soft light._

 _"Of course I'm not going to cry," Fatima huffed indignantly, her dark eyes taking on an angrier quality. "Father is dead. Mother is dead. Alberto is a bloody idiot," she shot a icy glare at her husband, who continued to ignore her. "I'm all alone, Sassy!" Her voice began to rise hysterically, attracting the attention of nearby mourners._

 _"Fatima," Sassy said quietly, her voice soft but firm as she forced her best friend to look at her. "You have me, darling. Just like you've always had me, ever since we were at school together. And you can come stay with Hashim and I in Damascus anytime you are feeling lonely."_

 _"Syria," Fatima scoffed haughtily. Though she kept her voice low, Sassy could see the beginnings of a tantrum coming on. "What a bloody shit hole you've chosen to live in with that politician of yours. I hope he's worth it," she snapped._

 _"Fatima," Sassy scolded. "Don't be horrible."_

 _"Well, it's true isn't it!" Fatima raged. "It's politicians who've made it so you can't come back to Europe, that you're stuck in a desert hell hole full of fools who can't even read or-"_

 _Fatima was cut off when a wooden flask was abruptly shoved under her nose. She looked up sharply, making eye contact with a severe-looking man in a well-cut suit who wore his hair slicked back. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but accepted the flask nonetheless - generally she liked politicians, especially those of the ruthless variety but this was Sassy's husband Hashim, and it was his fault Sassy spent most of her time trapped in Syria._

 _"Thank you, darling," Sassy said quickly, smiling up at her husband. "Fatima is ever-so nervous, she could do with a drink."_

 _Hashim made a wary sound in the back of his throat. "Why do you both insist on speaking English," he complained. "People will get the wrong idea."_

 _"Oh, fuck 'people'," Fatima spat viciously, dramatically dropping her head onto Sassy's shoulder. "Christ! Why the bloody hell can't we just go spend a week at Lady Hunter-Smith's estate like we used to when we were young? England so is much more civilized than the rest of Europe - let alone this Godforsaken stretch of dessert." She sniffled a bit through her complaining, but it was more for effect than because of actual tears. "It's not fair!"_

 _Sassy and Hashim exchanged a look, then Hashim nodded and moved away into the throng of mourners._

 _"Darling," Sassy said delicately. "This is just how it has to be."_

 _Fatima sniffed again and lifted her head off her best friend's shoulder. Her eyes were suddenly sparkling. "No, it doesn't," she grinned slyly. "Father gave me a task before he died. I'm speaking to his associates now, and if we play this right, you'll be able to travel wherever you want."_

 _Sassy's forehead creased in confusion. "What do you mean?"_

 _Instead of replying, Fatima simply beamed at her friend, then shrugged enigmatically._

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

When Lisa's 6AM alarm went off she was already pulling on her sneakers and the earbuds connected to her phone were playing one of her favourite Bach pieces. Some people might think it was weird to run to classical music, but Lisa found it endlessly relaxing. Cynthia worked out to Taylor Swift, an idea that made Lisa cringe. She didn't want to feel like someone else was _with her_ when she jogged.

She left the apartment complex via an adorable little gate a few yards away from her front door - it reminded Lisa of _The Secret Garden,_ and when she'd been house hunting she was pleasantly surprised to find the gate opened onto a large green beside the complex.

Jogging gave Lisa time to think her problems through, but that morning she wasn't especially in the mood for unpacking problems - more the complete clearing of them as she took a circuit around the park, enjoying the feeling of her body warming up and her muscles stretching out as dawn spread across the park.

The calm didn't last long. Lisa had started her second circuit when the sound of an engine drew close enough to drown out her music, and she stopped suddenly, surprised to see a white van slowing down as it came up the main road behind her. Her first thought was, _someone needs directions,_ and she removed her earbuds. That thought evaporated when the van pulled up on the curb and came to a stop right beside her and Lisa suddenly registered that there was something very wrong. She set her feet, unsure of what was coming, imagining a few possibilities.

Impossibly, the most paranoid delusion of those possibilities came to life. The van's door slid open and two large men wearing balaclavas jumped out from the back, storming towards Lisa.

"What-" she managed to stutter just before the first one lunged towards her.

Lisa acted quickly, snatching the taser from the band of her leggings and stabbing at her attackers neck. He released a strangled cry and fell to the ground twitching, just as Jackson had done the day before.

"Lisa Reisert!" the second man in a balaclava shouted. "You need to come with us."

Finding she was unable to speak Lisa just gaped uselessly for a few second while the second man commanded her to get in the van again. It made her blood boil and something snapped within her, the fight or flight instinct demanding that she _fight._

Lisa took a few unsteady steps towards her attacker, highly aware that she was visibly shaking with fear. He reached out to grab her by the arm but Lisa used the opportunity to secure the taser under his armpit, kneeling in the grass beside him when he hit the ground to maintain the electric current until he'd gone still.

Once the second man was out of commission Lisa ran straight through the park towards her condo knowing her life depended on it and praying the van's driver wouldn't just drive after her across the green.

She reached the little gate and stopped to catch her breath, realizing she didn't know what to do next. Police should have been the obvious first choice but instead she scrolled through her recent calls until she found Jackson's number and pressed the phone to her ear, panting and shaking, and hoping he would answer.

"Leese?"

"Jackson!" She heaved a huge painful breath and forced her way through the gate into her apartment complex. "Oh fuck, oh God," she gasped.

Jackson's voice was calm and controlled, "Where are you?"

"I'm at my condo in-"

Right in front of her front door, the man from the Luau Lounge, the harbor and the parking lot of the Lux stood facing her. He slowly raised a gun to point at Lisa and she couldn't stop a yelp from bursting past her lips, dropping the phone and taser in her surprise.

"Lisa Reisert," the man - her stalker - said calmly. "Please get in the car." He gestured to a blue Honda Civic beside him and Lisa recognized it instantly as the car she'd seen in her rear view mirror on her way home from work the night before.

"You've been stalking me!" She shouted hoarsely, not quite comprehending that there was a gun pointed at her face.

"Surveillance," he corrected, looking as though he was fighting not to roll her eyes. "Get in the car, we'll talk more once we're on our way."

Her hands now empty, Lisa could only let her arms hang uselessly at her sides as she tried to think of a way out. "What do you want?" She felt herself growing tearful, her vision blurring as moisture welled up in her eyes.

"Get in the car, Lisa," the man repeated. "Or I will have to-"

A sleek silver Mercedes pulled in - no, _sped_ into the apartment complex, drawing the stalker's gaze away from Lisa as he watched the car come to a screeching halt beside her. Lisa could only star in open shock as Jackson stepped one foot out of the car, glaring at the man with the gun with such venom it made Lisa shiver.

"Get in the car, Leese," he ordered, staring down their assailant who was glaring back furiously with his lips pursed.

Lisa looked from Jackson to the man with a gun, which was still pointed at her. "He has a gun, Jackson!" Her voice was shaking but even as she spoke the man was lowering his weapon and looking very pissed off about it. Once Lisa realized the gun was gone she bolted into the passenger seat of the Mercedes and slammed the door shut behind her.

Jackson slid back behind the wheel, not bothering to shut his door, it slammed of its own accord as he turned the wheel and peeled out of the apartment complex and onto the main road where the car fishtailed. His eyes flicked between the road and the rear view mirror, looking to see if they were been followed by, Lisa could only assume, whomever had just tried to kidnap her before he'd intervened.

She turned to fix him with an angry stare. "What is going on!" She demanded. "Who the hell was that!"

Jackson changed gears and took a right and then a left and then two more rights - it occurred to Lisa that she might have actually been taking part in a car chase at that moment, an idea so foreign and strange she could hardly find the will to accuse Jackson of involving her in something so heinous.

At last he cleared his throat, the same unwillingness to speak as apparent as it had been at the harbor and in the disabled toilets at the Lux. "That was the CIA," he reluctantly told her at length.

Lisa could only stare in disbelief - that had been the last thing she'd expected. In fact, she hadn't known what to expect but she never would have thought _the CIA -_ whose purpose she'd believed to be to _protect her_ \- could have any reason to kidnap her. Who was she to them? A hotel manager with few friends and no connections to anything that could possibly make her interesting to a policing force. She was a good citizen, a boring citizen, nothing about Lisa invited interest.

"Why the hell," she spoke slowly, accusingly. "Would the CIA want anything from me."

Jackson released his firm grip on the gear shift to run a hand over his jaw, looking irritated by her question. "The car may be bugged," he finally said. "I can't check while I'm driving and you don't know what you're looking for so just... hang tight."

 _"Hang tight,"_ Lisa repeated acidly, fighting the urge to scream as she sat back into the tan leather seat. She considered throwing herself out of the car, but that was likely to get her killed. She could distract Jackson so he'd crash the car, but that also could get her killed. She could run once they stopped the car but again, that could get her killed if he was carrying a gun and decided to stop her. Something told Lisa that Jackson wouldn't shoot her, that he'd be more likely to chase after her, and even if she managed to escape him Lisa knew competently hiding herself from the CIA was truly beyond her abilities.

She pressed her thumbs to her eyes, wanting to push the digits through her skull to stop it pounding. She felt powerless - powerless and stupid just like she did that day in the parking lot.

Furious, she remained silent until they pulled into the parking lot of a Marriott and ditched the car in front of the IHOP beside it.

"What are we doing?" Lisa demanded as Jackson opened her door and gestured for her to get out. Despite a childish urge to cross her arms and pout, Lisa got to her feet and glared at him. "What are we _doing?_ " She repeated more forcefully.

But Jackson only sent her a withering look and took her by the elbow, practically dragging her towards the Marriott. Lisa fought him off, freeing herself from his vice like grip as the thought of sprinting to escape occurred to her again. Reluctantly, she decided it would be better to wait it out and followed Jackson moodily to the hotel's lobby, taking his lead by remaining completely silent.

Jackson strode past the front desk, offering the woman at reception a smile and a wave which she reciprocated happily as they waited for the elevator. They continued their silent parade to the fourth floor and down a long corridor that smelled of cleaning supplies until finally Jackson let them into a room at the end of the hall. Unlike previous occasions when he'd opened a door for her, Jackson did not courteously move aside for Lisa to enter first, instead storming over the threshold and leaving her to close the door after herself as he set about tearing the room apart.

"Why are you in Miami?" Lisa demanded after several minutes of frazzled silence while she watched Jackson scoot along the floor feeling under the bed and then under the side tables, searching for something. "Tell me right now or so help me, I will go straight to the police and put a wrench in whatever you and _the CIA_ are planning!"

He peeled a small black device off the bottom of the side table, inspecting it carefully as he spoke. "Leese, the CIA will have the police lock you up and then cart you up to Virginia where they can do fuck knows what with you. I don't want that, do you? At least if you're here with me they can't... take you away with no questions asked."

Powerlessness imperiled her, and Lisa felt her heart fall to her feet.

"I'm so stupid," she hissed, sitting on the bed as Jackson began searching the closet, tearing through his suit jackets until he came away with another small black box. "I knew this was a bad idea but I ignored my own instincts," Lisa continued, talking to herself more than him.

Jackson shot her a sidelong look as he strode past her and hopped onto the bed beside her, wading through the blankets. "Us?" He asked innocently, then began unscrewing the light fixture on the ceiling with practiced hands while Lisa gaped up at him in bewilderment. He pulled another black box with a string from the lamp, examined it, and then hopped off the bed gracelessly.

"There is no us!" Lisa's voice was shrill to her own ears. "I don't know anything about you other than that you're involved with the CIA, who want to kidnap me for some-"

Suddenly Jackson was in front of her, pressing his palm to her mouth, his pale eyes intensely serious as he cut her off. It took Lisa by surprise, him suddenly being so close, though his unwavering stare made it easier for her to hate him. This was a severe, dangerous person, not the charming, intriguing guy she'd spent the last week with. She had been deceived, Lisa thought bitterly, watching as Jackson stepped away from her and purposefully dropped the three black devices on the floor before he crushed each of them with the heel of his shoe.

There was a long pause where Lisa could only stare at the bits of metal and wire he'd ground into the carpet, wondering what the hell they could be, when he finally spoke.

"You don't know what you're asking me to get you into, Leese," he warned, apparently struggling to keep his temper under control. "Sometimes it's better to stay in the dark."

"Fine! I want to be in the dark. Just let me leave!"

She began to push past him but he held an arm out to stop her. "It's too late for that now, Leese. If you go home or your face shows up on a CCTV camera they will be all over you."

Frustrated tears welled up in Lisa's eyes. "So what am I supposed to do?"

Jackson sighed wearily and nudged a small refrigerator open with his foot. "Start with having a drink and sit down. I've de-bugged the room. We can have a chat."

"It's not even 7AM," she pointed out weakly as he retrieved a miniature bottle of vodka from the mini-fridge. Another errant thought occurred to her, "What do you mean... de-bugged the room?"

Jackson handed her the vodka and gestured to the broken black bits he'd destroyed with his heel. "Bugs. Covert listening devices. God, Leese, haven't you ever seen a spy movie?"

Lisa almost laughed in disbelief as she unscrewed the cap on the miniature bottle and tipped a swallow of vodka into her mouth.

"You're gonna want more than that," he advised icily, and Lisa downed the rest, somehow not doubting he was telling the truth this time... for once.

"Anyone you repeat this to," he told her evenly, sitting beside her on the bed. "You will be putting their lives in danger. Not just danger from the CIA, but from all kinds of fucked up people you don't want to know about."

"I wish I didn't know you right now," Lisa spat venomously, pleased when he looked briefly taken aback before rolling his eyes and continuing.

"Charles Keefe is one of your regulars. You know him personally." It was a statement, not a question.

Lisa's brow furrowed and she recalled the day at the beach when Cynthia had called and she'd mentioned Keefe - Jackson had tensed up like the name meant something to him. "Keefe? What the hell does he have to do with any of this?"

Jackson ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark locks out of his eyes so Lisa could see how truly weary he was before he stood and looked down at her evenly. "Leese... you are part of a larger plot to get rid of Charles Keefe - wait - _hang on_." He interceded her as she shot up, looking like she was about to start screaming, and pushed her back down on the bed by the shoulders.

"Keefe is a Russian mole," Jackson explained seriously, still holding Lisa by the shoulders and trying to force eye contact. "That is obviously very embarrassing for the United States. The President managed to choose a Russian double-agent for Director of Homeland Security."

Lisa wanted to pull away from Jackson, but the meaning behind his words hit her hard, and suddenly everything felt so incredibly, unfathomably large and beyond her tiny world in Miami. Her overwrought mind flicked between a few of random memories - her father's ridiculous conspiracy theories about the Russians; the flamboyant Bond villain Ernst Stavro Blofeld in _From Russia With Love_ ; a presidential primary debate where Republicans argued over foreign policy...

"How..." she stuttered uselessly. "How could Keefe be Russian?"

"He's a double agent," Jackson elaborated, watching Lisa carefully as she tried to absorb this new information. "An American citizen with Russian sympathies - most likely due to hefty sums of cash - who has weaseled his way into the role of Director of Homeland Security."

"So," Lisa croaked at last. "Why doesn't the President do something about it!"

"The President doesn't need to know everything the CIA get up to," Jackson informed her dryly. "It's called plausible deniability. All he knows is it's being handled."

Lisa scoffed indignantly. "So you're a spy," she accused flatly. "High profile assassinations and government overthrows, right? Wonderful."

Jackson shifted uncomfortably and sat next to her on the bed again. "Not exactly," he admitted at length. "I told you, I'm a consultant... not a spy."

He was _still_ being unreservedly cagey discussing his work! Lisa couldn't believe it. Reveling this frankly unbelievable information that Lisa would never have imagined herself being privy to, and yet he was still hiding himself from her. It was infuriating and all she could do was glare and huff indignantly, turning her face away so she wouldn't have to see his imploring pale gaze anymore. She decided she didn't need to know any more. For all the digging she'd done, she wanted out. Now. She wanted to forget that she'd dug this out of him and now.

"What does this have to do with me?" She asked, knowing it was a question she didn't want to know the answer to. Knowing that asking was the _opposite_ of getting herself out.

"The best assassinations are carried out by multiple parties with no connection," Jackson explained coldly. "For this mission, you were one of those parties. You have the ability to change Charles Keefe's room number. I was going to have you change it, at which point associates of mine posing as Russian assassins would take Keefe out."

Lisa's hand flew to her mouth as she attempted to process his words. Then a realization hit her like a ton of bricks...

"Keefe was supposed to arrive last week... so you - this whole time?" It dawned on her that this person she thought she was falling for had not just been lying to her, but playing her for her help to kill a government official. "You're a psychopath!" She cried emphatically. "You - the plane, the airport, all of it!"

Jackson's face contorted. "Not all of it, Leese. This last week has been..." he was struggling to find the words just as she had, but she didn't want to hear it.

"You disgust me," she gritted out, and Jackson's jaw clenched as he stood to loom over her once more.

"Leese," he took her by the shoulders, and though she struggled to escape him he forced her to sit down on the bed, his fingers digging painfully into her upper arms. "You need to hear this, because this is bigger than you getting caught up in bad things you never wanted to know about. I know it's hard to accept, but the world is a _very_ fucking dangerous place. More dangerous than you could ever realize, and that's why there are people in it who make hard calls and sometimes innocent people, like yourself, get dragged through the mud to keep _everyone_ safe.

"You may not realize it, but however bad you think the Kremlin is from whatever snippets of news you pay attention to, in reality it is much worse. They are hacking our intelligence, our military secrets, building up a nuclear stock pile more advanced than ours - and Keefe is helping. He has to go, Leese, and when he is seen to be assassinated by the very people he's working for it will send a message to the Russians that we do _not_ fuck around. Even if we present this as errant Russian terrorists and not the government itself, we'll be able to investigate the Kremlin more thoroughly before something _terrible_ happens."

"Why are you telling me this" Lisa groaned miserably. "Why does the President get plausible deniability but I don't?"

Jackson straightened up looking startled at her words. "Are you kidding?" He exclaimed. "You've been pushing me to tell you since _the day I met you_ and now that you've finally pushed too far and you're life is in actual danger, you don't want to hear it?"

"Why is my life in danger!" She shouted back, getting to her feet as anger flooded her like a drug. "Why would the CIA decide to involve a _hotel manager_ in something like this? What did you _consult_ them to do?"

The color drained from Jackson's face and he made a choked sound, a sound that confirmed what Lisa had accused.

There was a loud knock followed by the sound of an electronic key sliding into the mechanism and the door unlocking. The skinny man she'd seen multiple times over the past few days strolled in, looking as though he was struggling to keep his face neutral.

"You!" Lisa gasped, and ducked behind Jackson as the lesser of two evils.

The man ignored her. "Well, you've royally fucked yourself now," he told Jackson sarcastically. "Excellent job breaking rule number one of espionage."

"Espionage!" Lisa parroted hysterically, and Jackson held an arm up to keep her behind him.

"You took advantage of classified information to disrupt a mission," the man continued with a loud sigh. "If it wasn't for Sykes we'd be hauling your ass in for treason instead of sending me in to reason with you."

"Tarquin..." Jackson warned, his voice dark and dangerous that made Lisa shiver.

Peaking over Jackson's shoulder, Lisa looked back and forth between Jackson and the CIA agent, Tarquin, with wide eyes, unable to completely comprehend what she was witnessing. Treason? Jackson had committed treason in helping her escape the CIA and telling her all of this? Treason was such a foreign concept reserved for historical movies about monarchs and war.

She felt as though she was staring at a huge puzzle; some of the pieces were finally starting to come together while other odd shapes had started moving out of place, getting in the way.

"We know you found the bugs but you missed a crucial one in your shoe, so guess what, I heard all of that," Tarquin continued blandly, tapping his ear. "And now I either have to shoot the pair of you in the face," he pulled a gun from a holster under his armpit and Lisa choked back a scream, ducking behind Jackson again. "Or you can come up with one of your smartass plans to get us out of this before you fuck it up any further."

Lisa continued to crouch behind Jackson while he and Tarquin engaged in a staring contest, both men sizing each other up until Tarquin finally raised his hands.

"What's it gonna be, man?"

Jackson revolved slowly on the spot so he was facing Lisa, staring into her shocked eyes. "Leese?" He asked gently, "Can we count on you to change Keefe's room number?"

The meaning of his words finally sank in fully, of what she was being asked to do, of what had been planned for her to do, and one frustrated tear to slid slowly down her cheek. "There has to be a way to get rid of Keefe without me," Lisa pleaded.

"Unfortunately not," Tarquin sighed in exasperation. "We need you to make this call tomorrow. And since as this asshole-" He jerked a thumb at Jackson. "Has revealed a highly classified CIA plot to kill the American Director of Homeland Security to you, I'll have to kill you if you say no. Sorry," he added, not sounding sorry in the least.

Lisa's mind began turning furiously, trying to see a way out of her predicament, but all she could see was the gun in Tarquin's hand and his promise to shoot her and Jackson if she didn't make the call that would remove Charles Keefe. A wave of emotion crashed through her as she considered her father learning she'd been found dead in a Marriott hotel with a total stranger. It would crush him. He would spend the rest of his life wondering why. Never mind about her own life, her life that hardly existed in the first place and now had been so thoroughly interrupted by something so much bigger than Lisa herself.

"Okay," she agreed in a small voice, her mind still reeling. Maybe she could still get out of it.

"Good. If you'd said no we'd have had to kill your father too," Tarquin tacked on casually, re-holstering his gun while Lisa collapsed onto the bed under the weight of this revelation, tears brimming in her eyes.

Tarquin turned to Jackson. "I've got to go meet Sykes and the Director to clear this with them, you pain in the ass. She stays with you. We'll be listening."

Lisa ran her fingers through her hair, feeling dizzy and unable to concentrate as a myriad of thoughts zipped through her mind. She didn't bother to stop the tears from coming as she tried to catch her breath, now knowing that her father was also in danger it all seemed so much more real. Her chin quivered, and though she didn't recall when exactly she'd started crying her face had grown wet, tears falling in streams down her cheeks, dripping past her nose and mouth.

"Lisa," Jackson was kneeling in front of her. He had both of her hands clasped in his, trying to get her attention. "Leese, I need you to pull it together."

 _Pull it together_. Words Lisa had repeated to herself so often now seemed impossible.

"Breath," he coached her, and hesitantly lifted the bed sheet to dab at her cheek in an awkward attempt at comfort.

Lisa reeled away from him, snapping back to reality when he dropped the sheet and let his fingers trail down her cheek.

"Why is this happening?" She managed to say, scrubbing furiously at her face where Jackson had touched her.

Still kneeling before her, Jackson pushed his hair off his forehead, and shrugged, his face dark and unreadable. "The greater good?" He offered bitterly. "A big brash message. Freedom and prosperity. All that shit. Take your pick."

"What is wrong with you," Lisa snapped, rubbing her eyes and rearranging her hair as she tried to pull herself together. "Why is this happening _to me and my dad_?"

Jackson pursed his lips, staring at the ugly hotel carpet as he contemplated her question, and Lisa thought maybe she would get a straight answer out of him for once.

"Your hotel," he said at last, refusing to look at her. "Keefe always stays in room 3825 but I needed - _need -_ him to be in room 4080. Our main prerogative was to kill Keefe and place the blame on the Russians. That was the easy part. Our second objective was to send a message. It had to be big, not a car bomb, not a shooting, a big fiery message that would make the assassination horrific enough that the media - _the country_ \- wouldn't soon forget it."

Lisa swallowed thickly, "How does the hotel fit into that?"

"Leese," Jackson continued carefully, glancing at her sideways. "People don't forget buildings being blown up."

She stared at him in horror, her lips parted as her breath came in short pants. "You're a terrorist," she said at last.

Jackson stood up abruptly, and walked over to the window where he proceeded to kick off his bugged shoes. "Maybe," he agreed harshly. "You tell me what the difference is between 3825 and 4080"

"I don't know, _Jackson_ , what's the difference," Lisa snapped, growing angry and further disgusted with the person opposite her.

He ignored her, instead of answering he pushed the window open and tossed his shoes out before slamming it shut again, his jaw fixed in a permanent sneer.

"That's all you have to say," Lisa taunted, growing braver as she got to her feet. "Just ' _maybe'._ Nothing else? You're fine with killing people - that's your big _secret_. That's your goddamn _job_."

Apparently she'd hit a nerve, because he stormed back across the room and squared off with her. They were as physically close as they'd been before kissing in Little Havana, but simultaneously as far away as it was possible to be.

"You don't know anything about me," he scowled, shoving a finger in her face. "I have calls to make. You sit the fuck down and shut up until I tell you it's time for you to speak."

Lisa made a sound somewhere between disbelief and fury in the back of her throat and slapped his hand away. "Don't you dare speak to me like that! Not when you need a favour from me."

He lost his temper then, shoving her in the chest so hard that she fell back on the bed, landing in the tangled sheets with a cry of surprise. " _Stay,"_ he bit out cruelly, as though he was giving a command to an unruly animal.

When he turned his back to her Lisa shot to her feet, glad she was still wearing her running shoes, and bolted towards the door. She didn't care if the CIA were looking for her, she would gladly let them find her and wait in the back of that white van with the agents in balaclavas instead of staying in the same room as Jackson Rippner. Though Lisa may have been weak in some ways, she was not about to be forced into doing anything this horrible man told her to - especially not if he thought he could order her around like a _dog._

Jackson intercepted her at the door, dragging her roughly back into the center of the room despite her struggling and shouting, then whipped her around to face him. His fingers dug into her shoulders hard, hard enough to leave bruises as he glared at her. "What is wrong with you?" He demanded. "You know if you leave you're going to get shot."

"No I won't!" She countered hysterically. "If your bosses at the CIA need me as badly as you do! I'll go wait with... with Agent Tarquin until I change the room number!"

He flung his arms up in the air in exasperation, releasing her. " _Agent Tarquin_ will let you change the room number and then he will kill you _himself!_ "

"I don't care anymore!" Lisa began to sob, feeling useless and vacant inside. "How could I live with myself if I let everyone in the hotel die so my dad and I can live? How is that the best plan you could come up with!"

"For fuck's sake!" Jackson snarled, looking like he wanted to push her again. "No one aside from Keefe and his security will die, Leese!"

Lisa gaped at him, confused, "But you said-"

"I asked you what is the difference between room 3825 and room 4080" Jackson snapped, turning his back on her again and going to the desk in the corner. "You're supposed to be intelligent."

Lisa stood stalk still, trying to work out what he was suggesting, imagining the layout of the two suites and their differences. They were essentially the same, the layouts only varying in that 3825 had a much larger living space and and 4080 had a larger master bedroom. Both had private elevators. 4080 was on the top floor, above the executive pool while 3825 was two floors below it...

And then it clicked and her eyes widened. "4080 is on the top floor," she said quietly. "The suite has a better view because it's elevated above the executive pool."

Jackson had picked up a burner phone and began clicking through it, but he looked up at her then, his face impassive as he waved a hand, impatiently encouraging her to continue.

"Are you going to..." Lisa's forehead wrinkled in confusion as she tried to work out the logistics of what he was suggesting. "Are you going to only destroy the suite? Instead of the whole hotel?"

"Bingo," Jackson drawled bitterly, then brought the mobile phone to his ear, ignoring her again.

Lisa sat heavily on the bed, lost in thought as she tried to put the pieces together. He could have easily just blown up the whole hotel with Keefe inside and achieved all of his goals. Instead he had roped Lisa into the equation so none of the other guests would have to die. It was a small difference and yet huge at the same time. Jackson seemed less evil, less cavalier suddenly, and her part on the plot seemed almost... altruistic.

A wave of exhaustion washed over Lisa, and she swayed slightly, feeling like she might faint. She carefully laid herself down at the end of the bed, covering herself with the duvet as her eyes slipped shut. It couldn't have been any later than 8AM but she was bone tired and could hardly hold on to consciousness.

Across the room Jackson began urgently speaking on the phone in what sounded like German, and Lisa frowned, wondering why he hadn't told her he could speak a third language just as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!**


	9. Chapter 9

The Hardest of Hearts

9.

 _ **Somewhere Over South Carolina**_

 _Sykes flipped through the Prinzeguerra brief for the fifth time. He was tired and pissed off about a number of things, mainly in that moment that he had to fly all the damn way to Miami again. He'd been handed the brief around 8PM and was boarding a private plane to Miami by 8.30PM, still working out what he would do about the problem presented to him. He knew he would find the answer in Miami._

 _On the seat across from him a laptop had been set up, Comms waiting patiently on video chat for Sykes to acknowledge him._

 _"Alright," Sykes said at last, scrubbing at his eyes as he addressed Comms. He found talking out loud helped him break down problems, like therapy. "Spoiled princess who's father has ties to terrorism. Father recently deceased; why would she bother getting involved in an ideological battle?"_

 _"Can't answer that for you boss," Comms replied easily. "I can tell you in the last month the husband has been to Abu Dis, Tel Aviv, Derna, Bagdhad, Mosul and now Tehran with plans to fly back to Rome in a week's time."_

 _"That tour looks like he's shopping something around," Sykes mused, opening a page in the Prinzeguerra file that Comms had delivered two days earlier. Audio surveillance of Jackson Rippner's hotel room in Miami and a conversation with his contact in Austria had revealed interesting if not worrying results. Rippner had been trying to get Sykes on the phone ever since, likely to inform him of these developments. That was a disappointment; Sykes would have thought he'd known he was being recorded._

 _But, it was possible he did know but had something more to add, which was why Sykes was now on a flight to Miami._

 _Sykes exhaled through his teeth and flipped to a picture of Fatima Prinzeguerra, a curvy woman never seen without towering heels, designer clothes and her exceptionally large pink diamond wedding ring. "And while the husband's been gone the wife has carried business as usual in Rome. Parties and gallas, et cetera."_

 _"Far right types flock to her," Comms agreed. "The few people we have tapped as legitimate Nazis in the EU have all been to her house for parties in the last month."_

 _"But why," Sykes scoffed. "Why would she bother with all of that when she has a few billion dollars and a husband related to the last King of fucking Italy."_

 _"Some people just want to watch the world burn, boss," Comms offered sagely._

 _"Alright," Sykes finally conceded, closing the file. "Who've we got in the region?"_

 _"MI6 already have an operative in the region tracking Prinzeguerra. He's infiltrated their inner circle," Comms explained. "The Brits picked up on it a while back."_

 _Sykes swore under his breath, deeply disliking that he'd had to learn this information from Jackson Rippner while British intelligence had already invested resources. It wasn't a good look for the CIA or for himself as Deputy Director._

 _"Get London on the phone," Sykes ordered decisively. "We need to get a horse in this race."_

 _"Who are you thinking, boss?" Comms asked delicately, though he already knew the answer._

 _"Who the fuck do you think," Sykes replied caustically._

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

Several hours after Jackson's blow up with Lisa and she was still sleeping at the end of his bed, breathing softly. Jackson had never dealt with someone so infuriating in all his life - and he had dealt with some fucking evil people - and he was incredibly grateful he hadn't been trapped on a plane with Lisa, trying to bargain with her to make a call. No gun to threaten her with, she would have done everything in her power and more to get in the way and get out of making a call.

At least now, he glanced at her briefly, she finally seemed to understand what was at stake. With the right information she would be reasonable, but being forced into a corner only made her hysterical and stubborn - a horrendous combination. Forget about her being a good spy, she definitely did not have the temperament for it. Not to mention the crying - the crying was awful. She seemed completely incapable of controlling her emotions, letting rational thought fly out the window in favour of self-righteousness and sentiment.

Now he just had to decide what he would do with her after the Keefe mission was finally completed. Sykes would take charge once Keefe was dead, leading the the media, FBI and Justice Department through a well planned series of events that would point them in the direction of the anti-Western Russians. Not the Kremlin itself - they weren't trying to start a war after all. Their ace in the hole was another Russian double agent who had been discovered and jailed a year earlier. He was _actually_ Russian unlike Keefe, and in exchange for false testimony, Sykes would get him a deal similar to the one he'd made with Jackson years earlier. Perhaps on a slightly shorter leash since the man had been spying in DC under the cover of a Congressional aid when he was found out.

It was a complicated web of lies and deception, and poor Lisa didn't have the stomach for it.

But where did that leave her at the end of all this? The Witness Protection Program was nonviable since she had such an obvious role in Keefe's assassination. Originally she would have just been a woman on a plane who got wrapped up in something bigger than herself, she wouldn't have had to lie or be hidden, she could have gone back to her normal life eventually, and her father would live.

In theory. In reality Jackson wasn't sure it would have played out that well.

Now she knew too much, and just as Jackson had told her, he didn't trust Sykes or Khan not to kill her once Keefe was dead. Her murder would fit in too nicely with the mission - what kind of terrorist would allow her to live? Her death would prove her innocence.

Perhaps he saw something like redemption in making sure Lisa survived, Jackson mused, and wandered over to the bed to gaze down at Lisa's sleeping form. He felt that annoying flutter in his stomach again and quickly turned away from her. Damnit, he really wished he hadn't kissed her.

The burner phone began to ring with one of the three numbers stored in it and he released a relieved grunt before answering. Instead of a voice on the other end of the line there was simply a series of beeps which Jackson recognized as Morse code and immediately sat down at the desk to transcribe the message. He couldn't help smirking at the practicality of the communication - easier and just as discrete as complicated encryption software handed over via secretive drops that couldn't be recorded or surveyed.

The message was repeated twice so he was able to get the whole thing written down before the line went dead. He spent the next few hours decoding the the dots and dashes (he could speak four languages but his Morse code wasn't the best), occasionally glancing in Lisa's direction to see if she was still sleeping.

That much excitement - being chased by highly trained secret agents, having a gun pointed at her, all the information he'd revealed to her combined with a small amount of vodka - it was no surprise she was practically in a coma. An additional benefit of having her unconscious was that she couldn't endlessly question him about - well, anything. At this point, he suspected any further questions she had would be about him and there was too much he was unwilling to tell her.

After translating the coded message Jackson chuckled to himself, amused that his contact had integrated some levity into their secret message. So typical of her.

He tore the paper he'd written the message on into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet so noone would ever be able to put them back together again. At that point he recognized it was just a matter of waiting for Sykes or Tarquin to get back in touch, leading him to sit at the end of the bed near Lisa's feet. He stared at her for a long time, memorizing the soft planes of her face and thinking back to what could only be described as _dates_ in hindsight. Three hours on the flight from Dallas. A cocktail at the Luau Lounge. A day at the beach. A night out in Miami, holding hands and kissing like normal people.

Jackson had not been normal in a very long time, maybe not ever, and after all of this, Lisa would never be normal again.

He bit his lip, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of guilt wash over him at how she'd been dragged into such a dangerous web of deceptions. He supposed he could have chosen a different city or a different day, but only the Lux Atlantic had the architecture that would allow them to blow up a building without killing innocent civilians. That sort of planning was why the CIA hired Jackson in the first place. His specialty wasn't the killing - the CIA were more than capable of that - Jackson was all about the message. Years spent working with the worst kinds of humans had deeply instilled that skill in him.

Jackson impulsively tugged on one of Lisa's shoelaces. She had kicked off the duvet and curled onto her side, legs askew. Thank God she brought that taser on her jog, he thought glumly, tugging on her other lace, then carefully pulling her trainer off. He thought maybe he'd read something once about how sleeping in shoes was bad for circulation...

Lisa made a sleepy sound, shifting sideways and kicking her other foot into his lap, and Jackson frowned down at her, wondering what the hell he was doing before he delicately untied and removed her other shoe, then curled his hand around the arch of her foot. He felt like he was getting away with something inappropriate in the relatively innocent but strangely intimate touch, and fought the urge to run his index finger up the soft sole of her foot, instead exhaling loudly and looking away from her.

He wished fucking Tarquin would get the hell back. Dealing with that idiot was better than sitting alone in a darkened hotel room stroking Lisa's feet while she slept and hating himself for it.

She shifted again in her sleep, pulling her knee into her chest and her foot away from him. Jackson let her go.

He wondered briefly if she would ever again look at him the way she had after they'd gone to dinner, only days earlier. Unlikely since she pretty much despised him for ruining her life.

There was a knock on the door and Jackson stood, sighing in relief as he strode to answer it. If it was a bell boy with information from Comms he would scream, but luckily it was Tarquin, looking more subdued than he had before. His shirt was untucked and his tie askew, his always carefully coiffed hair lying limp.

"What happened to you?" Jackson asked, raising an amused eyebrow as he turned on the light so they were no longer submerged in darkness.

Tarquin pushed past him into the room. He looked at Lisa sleeping on the bed and then back at Jackson, but instead of the suggestive smirk Jackson would have expected he simply hitched a thumb in Lisa's direction.

"Wake her up," he said dully. "Has she been sleeping all day?"

"Yes," Jackson closed the door quietly and crossed his arms, inspecting Tarquin for clues as to what had happened in the hours since he'd last seen him. He could see Lisa stirring on the bed, lifting her head and squinting around the room.

Keeping his eyes on Lisa, Jackson decided to try another tactic. _"M_ _adha hadath_?" He asked Tarquin, receiving a sleepy and confused look from Lisa.

"I hate you," Tarquin replied in Arabic, sighing loudly. "The Director chewed me out for not stopping you from sharing classified details."

Lisa had sat up straight on the bed at this point, watching them both with wide, wary eyes. Jackson knew it was only a matter of time before she started with the questions.

He pursed his lips, resolving to keep the conversation between himself and Tarquin. "Did they sign off on it?" He continued in Arabic.

"Yes, but they aren't happy," Tarquin sat down heavily in the desk chair, kicking his feet out in front of him. "A civilian knows what only four agents and one..." he looked Jackson up and down warily. "One contractor know about this operation."

"What are they going to do about her?" Jackson asked, feeling apprehensive.

Tarquin spread his arms wide with the guise of helplessness. "What do you think they want to do?"

Jackson made sure his face was blank. He shouldn't have been surprised, and yet here he was being told Lisa was a liability who would need to be taken care of, something he was all too aware of.

"And?" He pressed, feeling there was more to be said.

"And," Tarquin continued, "I said you would kill all of us and run back to Columbia if we took her out since she's turned you into a love sick puppy." He shot Lisa a dirty look. "But Sykes needs you for something else so... nothing has been decided yet."

"Can you both please speak English," Lisa snapped abruptly, already on to her feet and crossing her arms. She raised her chin and looked down at Tarquin imperiously. "Hi again, gonna shoot me?"

Tarquin made an exaggerated and petulant sound. "No," he said in English. "Gonna debrief if you'll let me, bitch."

Before he could stop himself, Jackson hauled back his fist and sloppily punched Tarquin in the face, mostly missing and grazing his cheek.

"Fuck you, man," Tarquin whined, rubbing his cheek but making no move to retaliate.

Jackson ignored him and moved to drag the chair in front of the desk over to face the end of the bed, gesturing for Tarquin to take a seat.

"Can we get room service or something?" Tarquin complained, "I'm starving."

"Me too," Lisa piped up, still standing and watching the pair of them suspiciously.

"Take a seat, Leese," Jackson said in a much calmer voice than he'd used previously. He retrieved the room service menu while Tarquin and Lisa sat facing each other. "I'll order room service and Agent Khan will debrief you."

Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Debrief me?" She asked warily, and Jackson could feel her eyes on him, but he ignored her and set about ordering food though he was listening intently to their conversation

"Catch up with you," Tarquin explained, and then held a hand out to her. "First off, sorry if I freaked you out. You know how it is. I'm Agent Tarquin Khan."

"No, actually, I don't know how it is," Lisa retorted snarkily, but accepted his handshake none the less.

"Well, you're gonna find out," Tarquin replied, his voice taking on a more professional tone. "Now, have you pursued communication with any person aside from myself and Mr. Rippner since he informed you of the Keefe case this morning."

"I've been asleep all day," Lisa frowned.

"Is that a no?" Tarquin raised one impatient eyebrow.

Lisa rolled her eyes, "No, I have not communicated with anyone today. My shift starts at 3AM so I can ready the hotel for the Keefe party's arrival."

"Since you met Mr. Rippner on flight - have you discussed him with any person," Tarquin continued.

"My colleague Cynthia," Lisa said hesitantly, her shoulders tensing.

"And what was the nature of this conversation?"

Lisa pressed her lips together, and Jackson felt her eyes on him again.

"She was aware that I met him on the flight and that I went for a drink with him after work last Friday. She also knew that we went on a... date on Tuesday night." The way she wrinkled her nose at the word date nearly made Jackson laugh out loud. "The next day I told her that it hadn't gone well and that I didn't intend to see him again..." She trailed off awkwardly as Jackson sat beside her on the bed.

"Was she with you when I called you?" he asked, again forcing a mask of impassivity so she wouldn't think he was asking her for any reason other than a professional need to know.

"Yes," Lisa said slowly, clearly growing nervous that she'd inadvertently sucked Cynthia into her plight.

Jackson looked her square in the eye, keeping his voice level. "She heard you say that you don't trust me, that you're afraid of me and that you saw me meet up with someone you didn't recognize." Despite his best efforts an accusatory tone slipped into his voice.

Lisa considered her next words carefully. "Yes, but Cynthia knows I don't normally... date, and she was't surprised that I ended things with you before they could go any further. She encouraged me to keep seeing you."

Jackson shifted awkwardly on the bed next to her, trying hard to hide the smug smirk threatening to break.

"Why would your friend encourage you to see someone you said you didn't trust and were afraid of?" Tarquin cocked his head to the side. "Could she have an ulterior motive?"

Lisa laughed at that, and Jackson had to agree the idea of Cynthia being a mastermind manipulator was completely absurd.

"No, definitely not. She thought I was being paranoid and she could tell that I..." She trailed off, and Jackson could see she was also internally replaying their conversation from the harbor when they agreed there was something... _rare_ between the pair of them.

"Yes?" Tarquin encouraged, clasping his hands together.

"She could tell," Lisa continued, sounding annoyed and looking steadfastly away from Jackson. "That I liked him. A lot," she added reluctantly.

Jackson felt the smug feeling vanish and the irritating fluttering sensation pick up once more. He avoided Tarquin's eyes and stared out the window instead. It was gratifying to hear Lisa admit she had feelings for him, but there was a sadness too since she would never feel that way about him again, not after what he'd put her through.

"And you don't think," Tarquin continued firmly, "That when Charles Keefe is murdered in the hotel room you put him in only shortly before he arrived, that Cynthia won't be able to put two and two together?"

"Cynthia isn't very smart," Jackson offered blandly, but knowing that Tarquin's concern was valid.

Tarquin ignored him, "Lisa Reisert, who doesn't normally date, meets a man the day Charles Keefe was supposed to be in Miami. This man stays in Miami until the next occasion that Charles Keefe is in Miami, at which point he is assassinated. Lisa Reisert had expressed concern to her friend that she was afraid of this man only days before the assassination."

Jackson began to grow annoyed with the line of questioning and could sense Lisa start to quiver beside him. He wanted to put an arm around her but knew it would be entirely unwanted so he opted for another tact. "That works in our favour," he suggested.

Both Tarquin and Lisa turned to look at him in confusion.

"Lisa Reisert was manipulated into developing feelings for me, but ultimately it was only my threatening her father that she was coerced into changing Keefe's room number." He shrugged, disliking how close that version of the story was to the truth. But Jackson always believed the closer you stuck to the truth the better the lie.

He turned his head to look at Lisa, keeping his face neutral even though she was looking at him strangely, like she'd never seen him before. He'd expected anger, that this story would remind her of what he'd done, instead she seemed... grateful.

Goddamnit, that fucking fluttering was back.

Jackson tore his eyes away from Lisa to look at Tarquin, who was staring at the pair of them curiously. It was no wonder he'd called Jackson a love sick puppy. The accusation may not have been completely accurate but compared to Jackson's notoriously ruthless efficiency and lack of feeling it was damn close.

"Shit," Tarquin nodded happily. "You're good, man, I'll give you that."

Jackson shrugged without feeling. "It's a good play," he admitted. "The problem now becomes whether or not Lisa will be able to stick to the story when she's being interrogated for hours on end by the FBI. We don't have time to train her for that."

Lisa, who was still gazing strangely at Jackson now looked startled by this. "Interrogated by the FBI?" She repeated incredulously.

"We're working on that part," Tarquin reassured her. "No need to worry yet. A few well placed contacts in the Bureau and a speedy leak to the press that it was a Russian terrorist plot and the case will be handed over to us before it comes to that."

Lisa visibly relaxed at this information, exhaling in relief as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"What time does Cynthia finish work today?" Jackson asked

"Ten," Lisa replied without hesitation, "She's back again at six tomorrow morning."

"Alright, that gives us a few hours to bug her house," Tarquin nodded, understanding.

To Jackson's surprise Lisa nodded as well, not looking scandalized or shocked that the CIA was going to spy on her friend. Had the bar for what upset her been set so low that something as invasive as bugging Cynthia's house no longer bothered her?

Their room service arrived not long after, and Tarquin continued to debrief Lisa while they ate. They went over every possible scenario that could possibly result in the media or government discovering that the CIA were behind the plot - which would have been catastrophic for international relations no matter what good could have come if it been kept classified and off the books. Jackson got the impression Tarquin was angling to make Lisa to feel like she was part of the team and therefore less likely to betray them at any point. And though Jackson probably shouldn't have been surprised, he was certainly pleased when Lisa dryly pointed out that she knew Tarquin was trying to manipulate her.

"But Lisa," Tarquin grinned, enjoying being caught out. "It's not manipulation if it's the truth."

"Please," Lisa waved him off, fighting a grin of her own.

Tarquin nodded enthusiastically, looking impressed as he shot Jackson a knowing look. "She's good, man. Definitely not a sucker."

They went back to how Lisa would handle the aftermath of the attack and what she would say to police and FBI agents when they arrived on the scene. The tricky part was finding the balance between informing them that she'd been coerced into changing the room and giving Tarquin and Sykes enough time to bring the case into the CIA's purview before Lisa could be caught out. Then they would be in control of the flow of information.

Lisa considered this balance as they talked, her lips pressed tight and her brows drawn together in concentration until she she seemed to light up when an idea came to her.

"Wouldn't it be easier if there was a practical reason for us to change Keefe's room?" She said in a rush. "That way there's an actual reason instead of straightforward coercion. It places a legitimate hurdle for them to investigate before they connect the room being changed to me - buying us time."

"What sort of practical reason," Tarquin asked, sitting up straighter. He'd since moved to sit at the head of the bed while Lisa sat with her legs crossed at the end and Jackson lounged beside her. An oddly casual circle considering what they were discussing.

Lisa hesitated, her eyes flicking to Jackson warily. "I have a condition," she said confidently.

"A condition?" Tarquin repeated dryly and then sighed. "Go on then, what's the condition?"

"Keefe's family," Lisa's voice was deadly serious, she looked to Jackson again, entreating him. "His wife and children aren't double-agents, are they? So why should they have to die?"

"The son is diabetic," Jackson jumped in, seeing an opening. "That's why the previous visit was cancelled. If we can trigger another diabetic seizure the wife and daughter will stay with him in DC and Keefe will be forced to come to Miami alone. He can't cancel twice."

Tarquin nodded. "We can make that happen. All it takes is an injection. Now what's this practical plan of yours?"

Lisa beamed at Tarquin, finally she'd won on something. "Plumbing," she said conspiratorially. "People don't like to talk about plumbing, it's the best way to get the room changed with no questions asked."

"All they'll have to do is check the room and see there's nothing wrong with the plumbing," Tarquin pointed out, looking deflated.

"Obviously," Lisa rolled her eyes. "All it takes is a few loose screws. I can do that when I give the room the official once over. If it happens close enough to Keefe arrival they won't question it."

Tarquin and Jackson looked at each other, sharing quietly amazed faces.

"How did you not think of that, man," Tarquin asked Jackson pointedly. "You just fully got served!"

Jackson laughed easily, both relieved and impressed. "That's good, Leese. That's really good."

She shrugged and blushed lightly at their praise.

Tarquin left after they'd agreed on the timings for each of Lisa's moves and what she would do after the attack. After Tarquin bugged Cynthia's apartment and ran everything past Sykes for approval he announced he would reconvene with the pair of them before Lisa started her shift at the hotel.

As soon as Lisa and Jackson were left alone the tension that had previously been replaced with malice and anger resettled between them. Jackson couldn't quite believe she was going along with the plan as easily as she appeared to be, and part of him wondered if she wasn't playing them. When he told her as much she laughed and shook her head.

"No, Jackson," she smiled. "I'm not playing you. This whole thing is insane but I guess it's for the best and..." she looked down at her hands. "If I'm the key to making sure no one but Keefe has to die then I'll happily do it."

Jackson smirked, feeling an overwhelming sense of affection for her. "That's very noble of you, Leese."

She looked up sharply. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not," Jackson insisted, scooting up so he sat at the head of the bed. "I'm impressed. And I'm never impressed by anything." He grinned crookedly and Lisa laughed.

"Well, thanks I guess." She said somewhat shyly.

"You should rest," Jackson advised sagely, gesturing to the pillow beside him. "You have a long day ahead of you and we'll need to swing by your place to get you a change of clothes."

Pressing her lips together, Lisa hesitantly moved up to the head of the bed to sit next to Jackson, albeit with a good three feet between them. Jackson pretended to ignore her and do something on his phone though he was acutely aware of every move she made, sliding down to rest her head on the pillow, rolling away to face the wall and then back to face him, watching him instead of sleeping.

"Is it always like this?" She asked at last, breaking the awkward silence between them.

Jackson glanced towards her, she'd propped herself up on one arm and was still looking at him curiously, like she was trying to work him out.

"Worse," he admitted wryly and she frowned at that, possibly with pity.

"I've only known you for a week and a half." She murmured after a long stretch of silence. "I mean, all of this is unbelievable, but so are you. Sitting there. Being whatever you are..."

Jackson wasn't sure how to respond to that. He inhaled deeply through his nose and released the breath.

"I've known you for two months," he admitted quietly, expecting her to jump up and hit him or start barraging him with questions or even try to leave.

Instead she was silent for a moment, then turned her neck to peer up at him. "Surveillance?" She asked quietly but knowingly.

Jackson nodded and Lisa relaxed her head back, her nose pressed into his shirt.

"Why?"

He bit his lip, not wanting to say ' _So I could manipulate you in any way i needed to so you'd change Keefe's room number'_ but it was hanging between them nonetheless. She already knew that was the reason.

Before he could respond Lisa said, "That's how you knew about the Sea Breezes." And she was smiling.

It was all so incredibly bewildering.

 _"_ Yeah," he admitted, relieved that she'd not expected him to say such an awful thing out loud.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

The Hardest of Hearts

10.

 _ **St Tropez**_

 _ **Some years' earlier**_

 _The last time Jackson was on a boat he had been very small; fishing with his father and uncles in New England. The boat was a creaky old thing, the deck slippery and rotten in some parts, sodden wood reeking of fish guts and bait. The sea had been rough that day, and a little frightening, but Jackson had helped his father reel in a massive Marlin and caught some fish himself. It was one of his only fond memories from childhood, let alone with his useless, drunken father._

 _Now he stood before an impossibly large yacht, pristine and proud as it bobbed in the glittering blue waters of the French Rivera. Jackson found his feet rooted to the dock as he thought back to that shitty little fishing boat from his childhood, so very different from the fairy light and paper lantern laden vessel before him. Joyful 80s synth pop was playing loudly from the uppermost deck, under the cover of which Jackson could hear the clinking of silverware and lighthearted chatter._

 _He had been in Europe with Fatima for several months now, occasionally making trips to Israel on behalf of her father but always coming back to her. Nevertheless, the grotesque displays of wealth she surrounded herself with disgusted him on some fundamental level._

 _Fatima curled her arm through his, beaming up at him from behind over-large designer sunglasses that hid half her face_

 _"Darling, I'm so excited for you to meet Sassy!" She squealed. "You have no idea how terrible it could be at boarding school. Sassy was the only thing that kept me sane."_

 _Jackson hummed warily, not sure if 'sane' was a word he would readily apply to his girlfriend._

 _"Oh, don't be cross," she feigned a pout and then gave him a peck on the lips. "She'll adore you, i just know it."_

 _A small woman with elfin like features appeared over the edge of the yacht then, holding a wide brimmed hat to her head to keep it from flying off on a sea breeze as she shrieked happily down at them._

 _"Darling! You're here!" the woman, Jackson assumed Sassy, cried down at them. "Just hold on a moment, my love, I'll send Rupert down to let you up."_

 _"You still keep Rupert around after all these years!" Fatima giggled._

 _"No one makes a gin martini like Rupert," Sassy called down airily, lifting her face up to the sun, basking in its glow. "Besides, daddy doesn't trust anyone else to look after me."_

 _Jackson glanced at Fatima, biting back a comment about Rupert the martini-making-butler when he saw how happy she looked. He'd heard all about Sassy, her best friend from boarding school who was like a sister to her. She also came from a wealthy Iranian family who sent their children to school in England, but apparently they made their money in banking and didn't engage in terrorism on the side like the al-Ahdals did._

 _What a pity, Jackson thought, he could have done with a bit more work._

* * *

 _ **Miami**_

The hotel bar was a sad attempt at casual luxury, but Jackson was glad to be out of his hotel room and away from Lisa, however briefly.

He scanned the small space and clocked Tarquin nursing a beer at the end of the bar. His shoulders were hunched and judging the tired lines creasing his youthful face, Jackson guessed he'd been on the clock for nearly 36 hours without sleep.

"Where is she?" Tarquin yawned, as Jackson slid onto the bar stool beside him.

"Sleeping," Jackson replied shortly, and ordered a scotch.

"Lucky," Tarquin muttered. "Did you bug the room?"

Jackson's thoughts drifted to Lisa sleeping upstairs and how disgusted and terrified she'd been of him only hours earlier. "That isn't necessary," he said evasively, wondering what mood she would be in when she next awoke.

"Maybe. Better safe than sorry." Tarquin took a sip of his beer then cast Jackson with a curious look. "So what's going on there, huh? With you two. Off the books."

"Nothing is ever off the books with you people," Jackson retorted smoothly, scanning the room to see if anyone interesting might be listening to their conversation. Bored bartender, jet-lagged business man, stressed family of tourists trying to feed a couple kids who looked ready to pass out.

"Fine," Tarquin acquiesced airily. "Not off the books. Just don't give us a reason to use it against you, and we won't have to."

When Jackson didn't say anything Tarquin continued to push him. "Come on, man. She's crazy hot. Everyone deserves a little _love_."

"You're a fucking idiot," Jackson told him flatly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nothing is going on. She's irritating, stubborn, and she hates me."

A third man approached the bar then, climbing neatly onto the stool next to Jackson. For once, Sykes was wearing a respectable suit and tie instead of his ridiculous undercover Hawaiian shirts and Panama hats. He looked pissed off but focused and all-business, a thick file in one hand and his mobile phone in the other, still typing out a message as he addressed them.

"Who hates you?" he said by way of greeting, waving the barman over and ordering a beer.

"His Subject," Tarquin explained smugly. "But not really."

Sykes ignored the comment. "Agent Khan, will you give myself and Mr. Rippner five minutes to talk."

Tarquin wordlessly obeyed, collecting his beer and moving to a booth on the other side of the bar.

Jackson raised an impressed eyebrow at Sykes. "How do you get him to shut up so fast?"

Instead of replying, Sykes dropped the file on top of the bar and nudged it towards Jackson. "We have important things to discuss," he said gravely.

Even as he opened the file Jackson knew what he would find inside, but he grimaced all the same when confronted with a blown up black and white image of Fatima and Alberto Prinzeguerra on a Roman street next to their Rolls Royce. The file was heavier than he would have expected considering Sykes' apparent lack of interest in Jackson's previous warnings, unless of course he'd been playing dumb for his own interests.

Jackson read a few pages, wondering bleakly if he'd been played into contacting Nassif, when he realized where the new information came from and couldn't stop a smug chuckle.

"You've been talking to the Brits?" He asked plainly, gesturing to the page before him and knowing it would piss Sykes off that he was a step behind the UK.

"How'd you know," Sykes grumbled unhappily.

"Oh, come on Sykes," Jackson drawled lazily, happy to be the one doing the taunting this time. "What kind of red-blooded American would use so many damn vowels."

"You are correct," Sykes affirmed stiffly. "We are in touch with MI6; they have an agent on the ground in Rome who has corroborated your Austrian contact's theory that the Prinzeguerras are negotiating with terrorist cells with intent to sell their product to the highest bidder." Sykes hesitated briefly, carefully eyeing Jackson before plunging forward. "I need you to infiltrate the Prinzeguerras and report back so we can get a handle on this thing."

Jackson laughed shallowly. "I don't think so. Once Keefe is taken out I'm disappearing for a while. I need a vacation. Also, you seem to forget that I am _not_ a CIA agent here to do your bidding."

Sykes made a disgruntled sound. "The wife wants to reconnect with you, doesn't she?"

"Another completely valid reason to disappear," Jackson countered, fixing Sykes with an impregnable look. There was nothing he wouldn't do stay as far away from Fatima as humanly possible, and he certainly wasn't going to go undercover for Sykes to put himself directly in her path. "I'll come back once you've locked her up."

"Jackson," Sykes voice lowered considerably, his face severe. "It may be nuclear."

Though he managed to keep his expression neutral Jackson felt like he'd been dashed with cold water at this revelation. The idea of a nuclear weapon in the hands of any of the people he'd heard she'd been in communication with was horrifying - desperate, dangerous people who governed through emotions instead of facts. Nuclear-enabled terrorists was not something the world could survive. And though the idea of being anywhere near Fatima Prinzeguerra made him physically sick, the idea of al-Quaida or Syria getting a weapon of mass destruction made him feel worse.

Even so, this was not his fight. Not his job.

"Five million," Jackson said quietly, his mind reeling.

"Come the fuck on," Sykes rolled his eyes. "For the Keefe set up, sure, for infiltrating your Nazi ex-girlfriend, I don't think so. Five-hundred thousand."

Jackson sent Sykes a withering look. "You're asking me to help you save the world, _Bill_ ," he deadpanned. "Three million or you get one of your guys to do it."

Sykes exhaled through his nose, pursing his lips in thought. "Five-hundred thousand for information. Find out what they have. Confirm it is nuclear and who they're negotiating with." He paused for a moment, looking Jackson up and down before he continued. "Two million if you bring her and the husband in with proof."

"Fine." Jackson nodded in agreement. "But you're wasting your money. One of your agents could do this on the books - there's always another angle in."

"Yeah, well," Sykes was waving Tarquin back over. "I'll keep you posted. For now, we don't have anyone who can infiltrate fast enough to keep this shit storm from happening in time - aside from you."

Once Tarquin had returned and another round of drinks had been ordered Sykes set Jackson with a firm, unwavering stare.

"Now, what are you going to do about your Subject?" He pressed, "What does she expect to happen when this is over?"

"She's been very helpful since I revealed all that classified information," Jackson smirked, enjoying how Sykes mouth tightened in irritation at his apparent carelessness. He went on to explain the refined plan they'd worked out with Lisa, including how to best avoid her being taken in for questioning by the local cops and FBI.

"Rippner..." Sykes said delicately once Jackson had finished. "You don't just let civilians take this kind of thing to the grave..."

Jackson scowled. Trust was not something the CIA were comfortable with. Hell, he wasn't comfortable with trust, but in this case Lisa wasn't just a civilian who knew too much, she was now an active participant in the operation and he couldn't see her running to the police when she knew what was at stake.

He explained his thoughts to Sykes, confidently adding, "You won't have to worry about her."

Sykes considered his statement, looking unhappy at having what he believed to be a loose end. "We'll bring her back to Langely and play it by ear," he announced at last.

The cautious way Sykes spoke convinced Jackson that there was a good chance Lisa would end up the victim of a terrible car accident or a robbery gone wrong in the not too distant future. Luckily for her, he had a back up plan. But Sykes didn't need to know about that now. Off the books was where Jackson worked best.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly to Lisa, and for a moment she was confused about why she wasn't in her own bed at home. She glanced to her left to see a digital clock blinking 02:00 - one hour until her shift, she thought blearily, then turned to her right and nearly jumped when she spotted Jackson sleeping a few short feet away from her on the massive bed. He was still sat up leaning against the headboard, knees bent and arms firmly crossed, his head bowed and chin resting against his chest.

He'd undone a few buttons on his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and his suit jacket carelessly discarded at the foot of the bed. Dark hair hung in a curtain across his face, making him look younger and more innocent than he would ever be capable of when awake.

Squashed between his bent knees and belt was a thick file, some of its contents strewn on the bed where they'd fallen.

Worrying her lower lip, Lisa slid her hand across the duvet to move some of the papers into her line of sight. There was a black and white image of a woman with black hair piled up in an elaborate beehive on top of her head. Beside her, climbing out of a Rolls Royce was a handsome man with slicked back hair; he wore an expensive suit with a pocket square. They both looked unhappy and suspicious.

Frowning, Lisa turned the picture over but to her disappointment there was nothing on the reverse side. She wasn't sure what she was disappointed by - perhaps a clue as to who the man and woman were even though she should have wanted nothing to do with whatever was in that file. Perhaps Jackson's next hit? They looked rich... maybe a kidnapping? Or could the possibly be under surveillance by the CIA, and if so - why?

Lisa cast her mind back to the absurd day she'd had and everything that she had learned and now everything she was suspecting based on one black and white picture with no context.

Just as she'd needed to know all of the details of the Keefe operation to accept it, Lisa realized she needed the details on Jackson Rippner. He spoke as if he'd lived an unbelievable life and done unspeakable things, associated with horrendous people. There was a darkness in him that made her nervous. The occasional black look or threatening glare, the comfort with killing, the willingness to deceive, even the violent way he'd shoved her when they'd been arguing - all of it pointed towards a truly dangerous individual. Lisa knew she did not want to be on his bad side.

There was also to consider that the CIA would let him kill an entire hotel full of people, while he had arranged it (via Lisa) so only Keefe and his security would die. What did that say about him? What did it say about the CIA? It turned everything Lisa thought she knew on its head, and just as Jackson had told her earlier, the world was a much more dangerous place than she could possibly imagine.

She wondered how many more hidden secrets there were on the evening news.

And then she wondered how many other high profile assassinations and government overthrows Jackson had orchestrated.

Despite all of this, Lisa felt there was a reluctantly altruistic current running through him. One he wouldn't be happy to admit to. She sensed a second, even stronger current too - guilt. And again Lisa wished she knew how he had become this person and who he had been before it...

In the half-darkness, Lisa shifted closer to Jackson, not sure what she was planning on doing but simply wanting to be closer.

His eyes snapped open when he felt the mattress move and through the curtain of hair Lisa saw those startling blue eyes peering out at her suspiciously. Then suspicion melted and he checked the clock behind her.

"How you doin, Leese," he rasped, his voice husky with sleep as he uncrossed his arms and stretched them out to the side.

Lisa pressed her lips together and shrugged. "Nervous, I suppose. This is all so crazy, I can't believe it."

Jackson cleared his throat and shook his hair out of his eyes. "You'll be fine," he told her confidently.

"How do you know that?" Lisa frowned, doubting her ability to maintain her composure or even carry out the deception itself.

"Because you're stronger than you think," he replied easily, adjusting his head on the pillow. "I don't understand why you hide yourself away."

Lisa remembered that he knew her better than she could have known, and she noticed a lack of anger or embarrassment that she'd been followed for two months. Jackson would know about her safety net, the bubble around her house and work and her Dad. If he knew about the Sea Breezes he would have picked up on how she hid in her house and let the world pass her by. For some reason he seemed to have a higher opinion of her, thought she was better than that

But that was because he didn't know.

Lisa rolled on her back to stare at the ceiling, contemplating telling him her secret, but in the end she grew distracted by his eyes on her. She swung her eyes back towards him, searching for something to distract him with. She spotted the angry scar peaking above his collar again and gestured tentatively to it. "What happened there?"

To her surprise, he laughed, smirking like he was recalling of a fond memory. "A Saudi princess stabbed me."

Lisa's mouth dropped open. "A _princess_ stabbed you?" She laughed in disbelief.

Jackson grinned and nodded. "She was part of an assassination plot - I needed her to convince her favourite uncle of something and she wasn't happy about it so she stabbed me with a dinner knife, wiggled it around a bit," he made a violent gesture at his neck and wrinkled his nose at the memory. "She was only sixteen, and in the end it didn't matter; the job was completed and she and her uncle went on with their lives."

They shared a chuckle, Lisa wondering who else he might have threatened or been stabbed by over the years.

"Is this really going to be okay once it's over?" She asked in a small voice, frowning.

Jackson pushed his hair off his face and pursed his lips. "I have an idea," he said after a beat of silence. "But you're going to have to trust me."

Lisa's frown deepened as she thought back to the last week. She hardly knew him, didn't know how or why a non-CIA agent was so deeply involved in a CIA plot, what they had on him or what he had on them. It was all surreal and felt like a story from an action movie instead of real life.

She did not want to be made a fool of by trusting him, but Jackson was watching her carefully, his striking pale eyes boring into her and, despite her deep sense of lack of control, she couldn't help but feeling he was telling her the truth and that in some way, she could allow herself to trust him.

"Alright," Lisa agreed at length, propping herself up on one arm. "I trust you."

He nodded solemnly and began gathering the pictures and documents that had fallen on the bed beside him. "Good."

* * *

Lisa strode through the front entrance of the Lux with her heart beating loudly in her ears, but managing to smile easily at the night manager, Jim, as she dropped her things off in her office and then set up behind the front desk. There was a lot to do and very little time.

After spending an inordinate amount of time showering and doing her make up so she wouldn't have to face Jackson, Lisa had exited the bathroom to find Tarquin waiting with a pants suit and pair of leather flats from her closet at home.

"I wasn't sure if you could run in heels," he smirked dryly, so Lisa snatched the outfit away and returned to the bathroom to change.

She was nervous. Very nervous, every inch of her feeling like it was about to physically start shaking.

They put her in a cab, Jackson explaining that Tarquin had things to do but he would be waiting in the parking lot.

"What kind of things?" Lisa asked, sending Tarquin a pointed look. She'd warmed to the young agent but with her nerves on edge she found herself asking more questions than was perhaps necessary.

"Boring things," Tarquin replied evasively.

The cab ride had been nerve wracking, but now behind the front desk in her natural element, Lisa felt somewhat calmed.

She went through the routine she would have followed had she not been part of a plot to murder a government official, rearranging some of the furniture in the lobby so it looked fresher, ordering flowers and instructing Jim to keep an eye on reception while she arranged the Cristal, Cuban cigars and gift baskets in room 3825.

After everything had been set up perfectly Lisa exhaled loudly through pursed lips, and retrieved the wrench she's hidden in the band of her trousers. She was by no means a genius when it came to plumbing but she'd seen a similar problem fixed before and reasoned it couldn't be hard to reverse the process. Carefully, she squatted beside the toilet and pried off the plaque behind it, causing enough damage that the room would have to be out of commission.

All there was to do from there was wait and keep busy -and try to distract herself from what was coming.

Cynthia and some of the other concierges arrived at 6AM as requested, yawning 'Good Mornings' while Lisa handed out coffee and instructions.

At 6.30 Lisa sent Cynthia up to 3825 to give the room one last check over - Cynthia returned not long after looking caught between disgust and stress.

"Oh gosh, Lisa. We can't give Keefe 3825," she bemoaned. "One of the toilets is a _mess_. That was _disgusting_."

"What?" Lisa frowned and feigned annoyance while the other concierges looked on. "Well, come on, lets go see."

They trouped up to the top floor and everyone made suitably disgusted sounds at the state of the bathroom.

"Okay," Lisa agreed, holding her nose. "We're going to have to change his room. Cynthia and Steve, could you move the Cristal and everything to suite 4080, please?"

Cynthia sighed heavily, "We're running so low on time! He's going to be here in less than twenty minutes."

"I'll intercept him at the lobby," Lisa assured her calmly. "We'll get maintenance up here before this... mess does any permanent damage."

Lisa returned to the front desk, and minutes later four black armored Range Rover's pulled up out front. Keefe - surrounded by his security - stomped into the lobby; Lisa was relieved to see his family wasn't with him. Thank God, she thought, offering Keefe a friendly smile which returned easily.

"Lisa, it's so good to see you," he said smoothly, shaking her hand.

Lisa found herself hanging on just a second too long as she smiled up at his handsome but weathered face; he was not the man she'd always thought him to be. This was someone who betrayed his country for cold hard cash. Someone she had to help stop. Someone who would be dead within an hour.

"Always good to see you, Mr. Keefe," she beamed, releasing his hand and addressing his security. "We've had to make a change to your reservation, you'll be in 4080 now."

One of the security frowned suspiciously. "We always stay in 3825," he protested.

"We're having a plumbing problem in 3825," Lisa explained, hinting at a cringe as she mentioned plumbing. "Trust me, you don't want to know. 4080 is a great room, the best views in the hotel."

"Sir?" a second security officer asked. "We have reservations elsewhere."

"No, no," Keefe waved the man off. "I have too much to do and I trust Lisa." He sent her another kind smile which she returned, going so far as to show her teeth.

"We'll have to check it out first," a third security officer said stonily.

While three of the security staff went to check the room two more stayed with Keefe in the lobby. Lisa directed him to one of the plush lobby sofas and offered him coffee and tea.

"No thank you, Lisa," Keefe said gratefully, gesturing for her to sit beside him. "How are you keeping?"

"Oh I'm fine," she said cheerfully, trying to judge how forced her grin was. "How has your tour of the Southern coastal states been?"

They made small talk until the Secret Service returned to say all was clear, and Lisa escorted the party up to the suite, informing them that there was plenty of Cristal and Cubans to go around and just to call down to the front desk if they needed anything.

"You've been so helpful, thank you Lisa," Keefe said gratefully, looking around the suite and nodding his approval. "Right, lets get some work done."

It was so close. Lisa checked her watch. Ten minutes. It was just enough time for her to get back down to the lobby. She considered running but two of the Secret Service agents followed her out of the suite. Blood pumped loudly in her ears as she began growing paranoid that they knew something was up, but the pair of agents just chatted about their schedule for the day. One of them stood guard at the entrance to the private elevator. The other just near the front entrance.

No amount of Secret Service on the ground would stop a rocket launcher.

Lisa returned to the front desk, her nerves now hiked up even further. Jackson had told her she had to remain calm, that the Secret Service would pick up on her acting in any way strange, out of character or suspicious. He suggested boredom was the easiest emotion to fake to if she started feeling overwhelmed or couldn't keep a straight face. Lisa had countered that she was a hotel manager and couldn't look bored, but presently, with her lips quivering and her hands shaking, bored was about all Lisa was capable of faking.

It was like waiting to be pushed off a diving board. Or shot.

"Well, that was a lot of excitement," Cynthia said drolly. "It's going to be a boring day after all of that."

"Boring is a state of mind," Lisa countered wisely. "You can always find something to keep you busy if you really want-"

The explosion above rocked the hotel, so loud that Lisa's ears started ringing. Flames came crashing down into the parking lot as the building seemed to sway back and forth under the pressure of the blast.

Cynthia screamed while Lisa gasped in shock - shock she didn't have to fake - and dashed for the fire alarm.

"What was that!" Cynthia wailed, jogging after Lisa to the front entrance so she could peak up at the top of the building. "Oh my God!"

One of the Secret Service men joined them out front, shading his eyes in the early morning light as he inspected the flames licking the roof of the hotel. He shouted into a mic clipped to his lapel but received no answer, then shot Lisa a curious look before sprinting back into the hotel towards the elevators. Lisa followed shakily, not having to fake her unsteadiness as she approached the elevators to see the agent pounding on the doors and trying his luck prying them apart. When it was apparent that route was closed to him he went for the stairs, Lisa trailing behind him.

"What is going on!" She shouted after the agent as she burst into the stairwell behind him and began following him up the stairs.

"I don't know!" He called over his shoulder gruffly, taking the stairs two at a time while Lisa struggled to keep up.

It felt like hours, her legs burning, and Lisa was grateful to Tarquin that she was wearing flats as she pounded up a dozen flights of stairs after a man in much better shape than her. Terrified guests stomped past them in streams and at last the Secret Service agent halted abruptly when one of his colleaues came thudding down the stairs in their direction. He had that same terrified look on his face as all the guests.

"It's gone," the new agent shouted hoarsely, skidding to a stop. "The whole damn suite is gone!"

Guests started jostling past them shouting, "Get out of the way!" in panicked voices, so Lisa waved the two agents back down the way they had come, still exhausted as she pounded down flight after flight of stairs. Behind her she could hear the two men occasionally shouting to one another until at last they reached the lobby which was swamped with people. In the distance fire engines were sounding their loud whines as they pushed through morning traffic.

Cynthia ran back to Lisa, her doe-like eyes wider than saucers. "Oh my God, Lisa!"

"Just a minute, Ms Reisert. We need to speak to you," one of the remaining security agents interjected sharply as Lisa began to move towards Cynthia. "You only just left Mr. Keefe and our colleagues up there before the whole room was blown to smithereens!"

"I noticed!" Lisa allowed herself to grown hysterical - not far from the truth. "What is going on here!"

The second security agent picked up on what the first had implied, and shot Lisa an impregnable look, as though he could see right through her hystarical woman act. He grabbed Lisa roughly by the elbow.

"Why was Keefe's room changed!" He demanded harshly, another wave of guests pushing past them into the lobby. The fire engines pulled up in front of the hotel, their sirens still whining.

"The plumbing!" Cynthia cried, her voice wavering as she pointed desperately at the ceiling. "Go check - there is no way we would have put you in 3825!"

The security agents exchanged a doubtful look before the first pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and brought it to his ear.

"Yes, sir!" He had to shout over the chattering of guests who were not being waved out into the parking lot by the fire fighters. Outside the X from the Lux Atlantic sign came crashing down into a patch of bushes and palm trees, inciting more screams and shouting from the terrified guests.

"Local news have already got helicopters in the air," the security agent told his colleague through clenched teeth. "They're saying it was a Russian terrorist cell. FBI and CIA agents are on the way."

The second agent swore viciously. "Where the hell is Bravo team!"

"Stuck in traffic," the first said gruffly, then shot Lisa another suspicious look. "Ms. Reisert, I suggest you help get these people to safety-"

He was cut off when one of the "T"s from the LUX ATLANTIC sign came crashing down beside the X.

Lisa didn't have to be told twice. She leapt into action - helping the fire fighters get people to safety and reassuring the other concierges that it would all be okay while the two security agents met with what she could only assume was the Bravo team. For the Secret Service, they were remarkably disorganized. But the again, their boss and colleagues were dead - that didn't leave them with much to do aside from aid fire fighters and huddle together on the phone with what Lisa could only assume was someone higher up in the chain of command than the Director for Homeland Security.

Then someone was grabbing Lisa's hand and she was abruptly dragged away from her thoughts of national security protocol to the present.

"Leese." Jackson had threaded his fingers through Lisa's and was looking down at her in concern amongst the chaos. "Leese, I'm gonna need you to pull it together."

Lisa nodded dumbly, and let him pull her away from the crowd towards the kitchen, which was completely empty of staff. One of the fryers still actively bubbling away while half chopped vegetables sat abandoned on cutting boards.

 _Pull it together._

Jackson led her through the kitchen and out the back door to the deliveries area; also abandoned and empty. The silver Mercedes was waiting for them there, Tarquin behind the wheel as the car idled. Without a moment's hesitation Jackson threw open the back door and pushed Lisa inside before jumping into the passenger seat, and Tarquin immediately revved the engine and pulled the car out through the deliveries entrance and onto the main road where police were starting to set up a blockade.

"Close as per usual," Tarquin muttered, swerving to the right and left again with a practiced foot as they sped away from the broken hotel.

Jackson didn't reply; he had the burner phone pressed to his ear, his jaw clenched firmly.

Lisa leaned forward between the two front seats. "Where are we going?" She demanded, though her voice didn't sound nearly as strong as she'd hoped.

"Saving you, didn't you hear?" Tarquin swerved around another corner and Lisa was flung back, her head cracking against the window.

"Oww, fuck!" She shouted, uncharacteristically annoyed.

Jackson began speaking in rapid German to whomever was on the other end of the line.

As she rubbed the back of her head Lisa strained her ears to see if she understood any part of his conversation, but could only pick out the occasional " _Ja"_ and " _Nein"_ rather than anything of real substance. She decided she needed a rudimentary course in German and Arabic if she was going to spend any more time with Jackson and Tarquin - it was infuriating being left out of conversations.

"Will you please speak English!" Lisa shrieked. "Where the hell are we going!"

Jackson turned in his seat, fixing Lisa with a stern glare. "I thought you agreed to trust me."

Lisa could only make a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and buckled herself in, choosing to stare out the window until Jackson finally swiveled to face the front again. He and Tarquin began speaking in low voices that she could have eavesdropped on had she mustered enough enthusiasm. Instead, Lisa kept her eyes locked firmly on the passing palm trees as they pulled onto the highway.

Some forty minutes of silence punctuated by the two men speaking gravely to each other and they had pulled off the highway, now some distance outside of Miami.

Growing further concerned about her predicament but also knowing she'd agreed to trust whatever Jackson had planned for her, Lisa bit her tongue to keep the mountain of questions plaguing her to herself. That is until they pulled into what she quickly realized was a private airstrip, with a small jet loitering some twenty meters away from a guarded gate.

"Please tell me we aren't getting on that plane," Lisa huffed as they drove onto the tarmac, heading straight for the jet. "You have to tell me something!"

"Yes, we are getting on that plane," Jackson snapped without looking at her. "If you'd just shut up we'll get out of here with our lives intact."

"Why," she spat bitterly. "Is the car _bugged_? Everything you say is being relayed back to some top secret headquarters?"

Jackson shifted to send her a withering look and Tarquin seemed to be struggling to hide a snicker as he pulled up next to the private plane.

Though she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised after the last couple days, Lisa still found herself too occupied with the urge to run as far away as possible to protest as she struggled out of the car onto the tarmac. The plane's engines began to whir as the pilot got the plane up and running,

There was an air hostess standing next to a short set of steps that led into the plane, smiling broadly in her navy blue skirt suit. Only one stewardess, Lisa thought, her heart sinking when she realized just how small the plane was, but that was the least of her worries presently.

While Lisa stood gaping at the private plane Tarquin was acting as bellhop, retrieving two suitcases and two garment bags from the trunk and passing them to the stewardess before he jogged back to Jackson and Lisa, shouting over the sound of the engines.

"Here you go!" He handed Lisa and Jackson a large manilla envelop each - Jackson's much thicker than Lisa's. She immediately ripped into it while Jackson and Tarquin spoke - or shouted - to each other over the whirring plane engines.

Inside the envelop Lisa found two passports, a slim gray leather wallet and a tiny velvet box. She flipped open the first passport, its gold symbols indicating it was Canadian. Jackson's face stared coldly back at her, and beside the picture was the name Jonathan David Tremblay. With a deep sense of foreboding Lisa opened the second passport and found her picture beside the name Claire Alexandra Tremblay. The wallet was full of credit cards, a Canadian drivers license and other banal things such as a Saks Fifth Avenue card - all in the name of Claire Tremblay.

Finally, she got to the velvet box, knowing exactly what she would find inside.

"Leese!" Jackson snapped and Lisa glared petulantly back at him. "Time to go," he said impatiently, looking like he was restraining himself from bodily dragging her to the plane. _"Now."_

"I don't understand." Lisa could hear her voice shaking but doubted she had the energy to cry.

"Yes you do," Jackson countered easily, making a swooping gesture with hand to indicate she should get a move on.

Lisa shook her head, a million questions thundering through her head. "Where are we going? You can't just expect me to get on a flight when I don't know where I'm going!"

Jackson and Tarquin shared a look, which Lisa was just about sick of, and then Tarquin spoke up. "Copenhagen!" He had to shout even louder to be heard over the engines.

"Copenhagen?!" Lisa repeated, startled by the random destination. "I can't just... _leave_ ," she tried to convince them. "What about my job? What about my father? What about the FBI and the CIA?"

"There's a reason why we have to take some cases to people like Jackson," Tarquin explained, looking more serious than she had seen him yet. "They're fully off the books. Right now you're off the books while we investigate our own case. That means no legitimate safe houses or witness protection programs to keep you away from the media. If you disappear for a little while we can control it. You're safest with Jackson's contact in Denmark."

Lisa looked at the plane and the air hostess waiting happily for them outside, weighing up her options. She couldn't see a way out of getting on the plane and couldn't even begin to imagine what lay ahead of her on the other side of the Atlantic. "But you said I could go back to my normal life," she protested weakly.

"Leese, it's this or Sykes is forced to feed you to the wolves," Jackson said bleakly, his lips tightening.

"Can't you tell the truth for once!" Lisa exploded, growing furious that she was being backed into a corner and forced on a plane. Being part of a secret operation carrying out an elaborate and meaningful deception that she'd convinced herself was patriotic had been thrilling, almost fun, but it was supposed to be a one time thing before she went back to her normal life.

As though reading her mind, Jackson added, "It won't be for long. For now, we need you to disappear. Trust me."

Lisa smoothed her hands over her face, covering her eyes as she tried to work through what was happening. Did she trust him? Not quite, but she'd said she would. Was that good enough? A plane that small could fall into the ocean and the CIA would never have to worry about her or Jackson ever again. Further more: what the hell was waiting from the in Copenhagen of all places! The Bahamas, South America, Mexico, those were the places you went when you were trying to escape the FBI or the CIA or the Secret Service or whoever else might be newly interested in a young hotel manager from Miami.

As though in a daze, Lisa handed the Jonathan David Tremblay passport to Jackson and followed him towards the air hostess. She checked both their passports and led them into the plane, nattering about their inflight services while she beamed a bright white smile. In the back of her mind, Lisa noted that the customer care was over the top to the point of being cheesy, and how she had once received a comment card saying as much about Cynthia.

Once they were buckled into spacious leather seats with a flutes of Champagne in hand, they finally got a few moments peace from the stewardess when she went to check on the cockpit.

Jackson handed Lisa the burner phone he'd been on before. "Call your dad," he instructed sternly. "Tell him we've absconded to Paris. I was on my way there and you're traumatized by the Russians attacking the hotel."

Lisa gingerly took the proffered phone from Jackson and carefully dialed her father's mobile number to do as she was instructed. Absconding to Paris was not like Lisa in the slightest, and her father did his usual shpeel of " _Are You OK"_ , and " _Are You Sure."_ This time she also got a supportive "If you feel like you need to..."

It felt like only seconds after she'd said goodbye that the plane taxied to the end of the airstrip and took off, Miami growing smaller and smaller below them as the small craft climbed towards the heavens. Lisa felt numb as she remembered the velvet box in the manila envelop and she retrieved it, aware of Jackson watching her curiously. She supposed she was acting very strange - but considering what was happening, she felt that was more than a reasonable reaction to the situation unfolding around them.

Lisa opened the small box, and within sat one gold wedding band and an engagement ring with three fat diamonds, accompanied by a matching wedding band.

"Why do we have to be married," she grumbled, closing the box again.

Jackson shrugged, lounging like he didn't have a care in the world. "Why are we Canadian? Because single Americans traveling abroad get more attention."

Lisa pursed her lips and looked back out the window at the clouds now leveling out around them. She frowned, realizing something was different.

"I don't... feel anxious," she said haltingly, and Jackson sent her a curious look. "Normally I'm terrified of flying."

"That'll be the adrenaline," Jackson observed with a knowing nod. "Feels pretty good doesn't it?"

Lisa pondered these words, disliking them immensely.

Unfortunately, they were true.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review:)**


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